


Ties

by rottnrotty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Angst, Awesome Molly Weasley, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, M/M, Magical Bond, Nonverbal Communication, Portkeys, Scars, Weasley Jumpers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottnrotty/pseuds/rottnrotty
Summary: Harry discovers he has more in common with his schoolhood nemesis than he ever thought possible.





	1. Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts during HBP, and continues from there.
> 
> Rape/Non-Con is not between Draco and Harry, and is not discussed in any great detail.
> 
> Song lyrics from 'War of Hearts' by Ruelle.

_Come to me_  
_In the night hours_  
_I will wait for you_  
_And I can’t sleep_  
_'Cause thoughts devour_  
_Thoughts of you consume_

* * *

"Malfoy is up to something." Dumbledore met this statement with a mask of detached politeness, and Harry's hands balled into fists in is lap in response. "He and Snape-"

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore stressed with a sigh. They had been through this all before, more than once.

"Sure, Professor Snape," Harry said hurriedly. "Anyway, I overheard them talking again after Potions class. Sna...uh, Professor Snape was definitely offering to help Malfoy with something. And Malfoy was really upset, insisting it was his job to do and that Snape was trying to steal all the glory. Oh, I almost forgot, Snape said that Malfoy had gotten really good at Occlemency." Harry gazed at Dumbledore eagerly, expecting the Headmaster to be thrilled with this new bit of intel.

Dumbledore propped his chin on his non-damaged hand and peered back at Harry through his half moon spectacles, an indecipherable expression on his face. "Thank you for letting me know, Harry. However, what you have told me about Draco and Professor Snape is no cause for concern-"

"No cause for concern?" Harry interupted in a rather high-pitched screech. He jumped to his feet, and in his haste, tipped the chair he had been sitting in backwards onto the floor. "This proves that Malfoy has some sort of secret mission, probably for Voldemort, and Snape is involved in it up to his eyeballs."

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, Harry's chair righted itself, and slid forward until it smacked Harry in the back of the knees, forcing him to sit. "Professor Snape is a trusted member of the Order," Dumbledore asserted firmly. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore fixed him with an intimidating stare that would have only been rivalled by Professor McGonagall. "And you and young Mister Malfoy are more alike than either one of you would care to admit. Oh yes, it's true," Dumbledore chuckled in response to Harry's horrified expression.

"Malfoy and I are nothing alike," Harry spit out. He didn't care one whit if he was being disrespectful. "He's nothing but a bully and a coward."

"He is those things, you are correct. However, you are wrong to assume that Draco is the heartless villain you and your friends portray him to be. The very thing that saved you from Voldemort's killing curse, and spared your life, is exactly what is keeping Draco alive right now." Dumbledore smiled at Harry kindly before extending a small dish across the weathered mahogany desk. "Sherbert lemon?"

Harry popped one of the tart candies into his mouth and leaned back in his chair, pondering Dumbledore's last words. Was he insinuating that LOVE was keeping Draco Malfoy alive? Malfoy did look distinctly under the weather the last time Harry had seen him up close. The boy's eyes had been bloodshot, with deep purple smudges staining the skin below. His normally pale skin had turned sallow and pasty. Could Malfoy be ill?

"But that's not why I requested your presence today. We do seem to have gotten off topic." The Headmaster tittered under his breath, like he knew something Harry didn't. "Harry, I need you to do me a favour."

"Of course," Harry replied, although he didn't feel as sure of himself as his voice let on.

Dumbledore rooted through a drawer before making a happy "ah hah" sound and holding up an ancient-looking necklace. The length of leather was worn and tattered. The charm at the end of the leather was also shabby. Dumbledore held it out over the desk, dropping it into Harry's outstretched hand. Up close, Harry could see that the charm was constructed of some sort of wood, which had softened and dulled with age. Even with the deterioration, Harry was able to discern the shape of a dragon.

"Please, put it on," Dumbledore said, making a small 'go-ahead' motion with one hand. Harry pulled the necklace over his head. The dragon fell mid-way down his chest. For some unknown reason, Harry felt compelled to tuck the necklace under his robes. As soon as the charm touched his body, Harry knew he was dealing with a powerful magical object. Magic crackled over his skin, leaving him feeling energized and covered in goose bumps.

Dumbledore's face took on a radiant expression. "Thank you, Harry. You will need to wear this necklace at all times; never take it off. The charm is a portkey. I have modified the normal portkey spells so that it will only be activated under certain specific circumstances." The confusion Harry was feeling must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore continued, "you are the only person I trust to do this particular job."

Pride welled up inside Harry. "I won't let you down, sir."

"I know you won't," Dumbledore murmured affectionately.

* * *

Oh god. OH GOD! Everything had gone pear-shaped. Dumbledore was dead. Snape was a traitor. When Harry closed his eyes, he could still hear Snape's wry voice intone 'Avada Kedavra', could see the brilliant green magic stream towards Dumbledore under the backdrop of the Dark Mark, could hear the wind whistle as the Headmaster's body plummeted over the Astronomy Tower.

Snape had gotten away. Harry had tried his best, but had been unable to stop Snape from escaping, pulling Draco Malfoy along with him.

And what about Malfoy? What would happen to him now? He hadn't fulfilled Voldemort's orders. Would he be killed? Forced to watch his family die? Or just kept in line by the threat of what might happen? Malfoy might be a foul and poisonous git, but no one deserved whatever Voldemort had in store.

 _Maybe Dumbledore was right_ , Harry thought. _Maybe Malfoy and I do have more in common than I would like to admit_. Because if Harry's gut instinct was right, another young boy was about to lose his parents to Voldemort, and possibly be fighting for his own life.

It was uncomfortable, feeling even the smallest amount of pity and understanding towards Draco Malfoy, of all people. Harry reminded himself that Malfoy had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It was his fault that Bill was injured. It was Malfoy that had Impervioused Rosmerta, and nearly gotten Katie and Ron killed.

But it was decidedly easier to think about Draco Malfoy's problems than fixate on his own. With Dumbledore dead, it was up to Harry to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes. How in bloody hell was he supposed to accomplish that?

Harry fingered the dragon charm that lay on his chest. At least he had this one link to his mentor. He wondered idly if the necklace was still a portkey, or if Dumbledore's job had ended with his death. Regardless, Harry felt safer with the necklace on. He tucked it back under his t-shirt, where it seemed to pulse once before spreading a soothing warmth over his skin, lulling him into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Harry greatly disliked magical methods of transportation. Well, that wasn't strictly true. He loved to fly on a broomstick. But to most wizards, brooms were viewed as more of a hobby and less as a way to get around. Unfortunately, the traditional apparition, portkey, floo network, and Knight Bus all left Harry feeling uncomfortable at best, and nauseously queasy at worst.

A familiar hook-in-the-navel feeling was all the warning Harry had before he was jerked forward, rising into the air and spinning frantically in a whirl of light and colour.  He imagined this was what being caught in a tornado felt like.

The ground seemed to be approaching at an alarming rate, and if Harry kept his current posture, he would be landing flat on his back. He twisted in mid-air just in time, righting himself so as to hit the floor on his hands and knees. The pain was excruciating, but at least he hadn't smashed his nose into the ground.

Trying to get his bearings, Harry climbed to his feet gingerly and glanced around. It was pitch black. After giving his eyes a moment to adjust, recognition kicked in. Peeling wallpaper on the walls, thread worn carpet, troll-leg umbrella stand; he was on the ground floor of Grimmauld Place.

A fierce pounding on the front door had Harry scurrying forward. He cast a desperate glance at the curtains which hid Walburga Black's portrait. If he was lucky, the old bat would be deep asleep at this time of night, and he wouldn't have to deal with her offensive commentary.

As he wrenched the door open, he realized what a huge mistake he had made. With Dumbledore dead, everyone who had known the location of 12 Grimmauld Place became a secret keeper, including Severus Snape. Anyone could be waiting for Harry on the front step. He tried to reverse the momentum, to swing the heavy wooden door back closed, but he was too late. A scuffed black boot shot out and wedged in the entrance. The door rebounded back quickly, nearly hitting the wall. Harry caught it on reflex, glancing once again at the portrait before turning his attention back to the front stoop.

A man manoeuvring a large bundle stood at the door. Disgust was plain on his face as he pulled something off over his neck and from around the bulky package he was holding. The item clattered to the floor, and in the next moment, so did the mysterious parcel. It had actually been shoved more than dropped, and let out a strangled groan upon hitting the ground. Harry dropped to his knees, finally recognizing the form as a person wrapped tightly in an ill-fitting grey cloak, their features indistinguishable behind a raised and drooping hood.

The man in the dull black boots spat on the floor. "I've now fulfilled my promise to Dumbledore, although it pains me greatly to do so, you filthy Death Eater scum." Harry raised his eyes, and felt a small tug of recognition play in his mind. This cruel-looking, angry man was an Auror; Harry had seen him speaking with Tonks and Shacklebot on occasion. "If you think for one bloody minute that any one of us are going to risk our lives for your miserable parents, you are sorely mistaken. I hope they rot in Azkaban.  It is better than the lot of you deserve." A booted foot lashed out, lightening fast, and gave the bundle a brutal kick. Harry thought he heard a bone snap, although there was no scream of pain. Just a low grunt and an almost soundless exhaled whimper.

Harry laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on the cloaked individual. "Get out," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Get out of my house."

The Auror started in surprise, like he hadn't really registered Harry's presence until that moment. "Gladly," he hissed back at Harry, a condescending scowl on his face. "Dumbledore told me you'd be here. I didn't believe it. Never thought the Chosen One would fraternize with Voldemort supporters." He raked his eyes over Harry in a leering manner. He then poked a toe at the figure still lying crumpled on the floor. "He deserves to be dead, Dumbledore was a fool." In a Snape-like flourish of billowing robes and confident gait, the Auror hustled out of 12 Grimmauld Place, apparating as soon as he passed through the wards.

Harry turned his attention back to the injured person left behind. There was no sound or movement anymore, and Harry feared that whoever it was had slipped into unconsciousness or died. After what seemed like a lifetime, Harry's hand moved with the rise and fall of an inhaled breath, and Harry was able to breathe again as well.

Harry hesitated. What should his next move be? On one hand, he could be dealing with a dangerous Death Eater. But on the other, Dumbledore had set this whole thing up before his death. Harry swallowed his doubts and decided to trust Dumbledore. Why stop now?

Cautiously, he leaned forward until his hand was hovering over the deep grey hood. Before he could pull it back, his eye caught something on the floor just a few feet away. Harry reached out further and grasped it, bringing the object up close to his face so he could see it in the dimness of the entry. It was a necklace, and before he could make the connection for himself, his own dragon charm pulled free of his t-shirt and moved with a magnetic force towards it. The charms on both leather ropes shiftled slightly, until they slotted together perfectly, creating one interlocking amulet. Harry blinked hard, not quite believing his eyes. The Auror must have had that necklace around his neck, and around the Death Eater as well. Dumbledore had enchanted the charms to work as portkeys that depended on each other.

Harry slipped the now joined charms back around his neck. He would study them in more detail later. Without further delay, he swiftly reached out and pulled down the grey hood, until a familiar face was exposed. The white-blonde hair was lank and dirty, and his pale, haughty face was battered and bruised, yet he was still recognizable.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. It was Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry felt terror bloom in his chest. Not because he was scared of Malfoy. He was actually scared **for** Malfoy, and wasn't that just an entirely new and bewildering feeling?

It was obvious that Malfoy was pretty badly hurt. Beside the facial abrasions that Harry could see, and the snapped bone he had witnessed with his own eyes, Harry suspected other more serious injuries lay under that grey cloak. He could smell the faint rusty-metallic scent of blood, along with an odour of sweat and unwashed body.

Harry was wholly unprepared to deal with this type of situation. He cursed Dumbledore under his breath. _Think, THINK!_ There was no hospital wing to go to, no Madam Pomfrey to save the day. He was on his own.

"Malfoy," Harry said hesitantly, poking at his shoulder. He repeated again, louder this time, "Malfoy!" Malfoy groaned deeply, and swung his head towards Harry, opening one eye. The other appeared swollen shut. "Malfoy, you're hurt. Can you move?"

Malfoy starting making an awful gagging noise. Harry was worried that he was choking, until it became clear that Malfoy was attempting to laugh. "Potter," he gasped. "Just my luck. Should have guessed, I suppose." He attempted to push himself up into a seated position, and would have ended up slumped back on the floor if Harry hadn't reached out and caught him. "No shit I'm hurt. Your observational skills are as good as ever."

Harry swallowed back the bitter retort he longed to throw at his nemesis. Instead he asked, "if I help you, do you think we can move you somewhere more comfortable?"

Malfoy nodded. He raised his arms, and Harry took this as permission to latch his hands under Malfoy's armpits and drag him to his feet. Harry didn't miss Malfoy's wince of pain, or the green tinge to his skin. Shuffling forward, every step seemed like agony to Malfoy, until his breath was coming out in shallow pants. They made it to the parlour, and Harry steered Malfoy towards his favourite squashy settee. Malfoy collapsed onto it with a sharp sob.

Now Harry was at a loss for what to do. He stood their awkwardly, hovering over Malfoy, unsure what to do or say. He didn't even know if his help would be welcome.

Almost like he was reading Harry's mind, Malfoy rolled over to face the back of the sofa. "Just leave me alone, Potter," he said. His words lacked the inherent bite that he usually directled at Harry.

Harry lingered for a few more seconds, before nodding his head, then rolling his eyes when he realized Malfoy couldn't see him. "Right. Er...right. I'll just go...er...rustle up something to eat." He felt much better with a plan in place, as lame as it might be. Harry hightailed it to the kitchen, putting as much space between himself and Draco Malfoy as was possible in the circumstances.

Harry took his time in the kitchen. Normally it would take him only minutes to throw together some soup and a sandwich, and boil water for tea. He managed to drag the task out for half an hour in his bid to avoid the situation awaiting him upstairs.

Even though he felt bad about it, Harry was hoping that Malfoy had fallen asleep in the time he was gone. Maybe things would make more sense tomorrow, in the light of day.

He paused just outside the parlour, sucking in a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves. As he stepped soundlessly into the room, Harry was confronted by something he had hoped never to hear again. Draco Malfoy was crying. He was doing his best to gulp down his sobs, but the achingly heartbreaking sound still reached Harry's ears. Thankfully, Malfoy's back was still turned towards him, so Harry's presence in the room hadn't been noticed yet.

Harry froze, acutely aware of the disastrous outcome of the last time Harry saw Malfoy cry. What should he do? He had just made up his mind to move forward and drop the tray of food on the coffee table, when Malfoy's strangled voice filled the room. "Mother! Oh, Merlin, mother." The muffled sobs ripping from Malfoy's mouth caused an almost physical reaction in Harry. It was pity, and sympathy, wrapped up around a whole slew of other emotions. "I hope you are safe mum. Please, be safe."

The last thing that Malfoy would want was Harry to witness this moment of vulnerability. But that begged the question, what did Malfoy want? His mother, obviously, but Harry couldn't provide that. For Harry to leave him alone, but Harry couldn't do that, either. Malfoy was hurt, and needed someone to tend to his injuries.

In a stroke of genius, Harry ran back down to the kitchen, and used the fireplace to floo call the most motherly person he knew. He crossed his fingers that family grudges could be forgotten at a time like this.

Even in the middle of the night, it only took Molly Weasley ten minutes to get ready and floo to Grimmauld Place. Harry had kept his floo call short and sweet, just letting Mrs. Weasley know that a Hogwarts student was seriously injured. Molly came through the floo dressed in housework robes, a bundle of potions spilling out of her arms.

As they walked to the parlour, Harry caught her up on the events of the night, from the portkey activation to the Auror and his mysterious rescue mission. Molly shook her head in distaste when she heard how the Auror had acted. Outside the parlour door, it was still possible to hear Malfoy crying, although the agonizing sobs had turned into tormented whimpering.

Molly reached out and grabbed Harry's hand, dropping most of her items on the floor with a clatter. Malfoy jerked in shock, bolting upright to a seated position. A loud hiss of pain slipped through his lips. It was echoed by Mrs. Weasley's gasp when she took in the devastation of Malfoy's face. Holding on upright posture proved too difficult for Malfoy, and he slumped sideways on the arm of the settee, his face a mask of agony.

"Oh dear," Molly whispered. Her grip on Harry's hand became bone-crushingly strong. "Is that the Malfoy boy?"

Harry nodded, chewing on his lip as he awaited Mrs. Weasley's reaction. Malfoy and his father had been utter shit to Molly and the rest of the Weasley family. Harry wouldn't be surprised if she just turned on her heel and flooed back home.

Molly's expression of tender worry didn't change. "His name, is it Dragon?"

"Draco," Harry replied. The name nearly got stuck in his dry mouth. The broken blonde boy on his sofa had never been Draco to Harry. He had always been Malfoy, a thorn in his side.

"Draco," Molly repeated in a soft voice. She stepped up the the sofa, and set a warm hand on the boy's knee. "Draco," she said again, "dear, can you tell me where it hurts?"

Malfoy open his one good eye, and stared at Mrs. Weasley with a fiery intensity. Harry held his breath, wondering if the git was awful enough to throw kindness back at someone as wonderful as Molly Weasley.

The tense moment broke when Malfoy wailed, "everywhere, it hurts everywhere," and launched himself forward into Molly's arms.

Harry could just make out the murmured "there theres" and "good boys" that were being whispered into Malfoy's ear. He knew exactly how heartening a hug from Molly Weasley felt. For the first time since he had been whisked out of bed by Dumbledore's mad portkey, Harry allowed himself to relax a little. He wasn't in this alone anymore.

Malfoy's cries were dying down. Molly leaned back slightly, and gave him an encouraging smile. "Let's take this dirty old cloak off, shall we?" With the dexterous hands born from years of motherhood, Molly was able to make short work of removing the filthy grey cloak from around Malfoy's slight frame. Harry watched in silent awe as Malfoy gazed at Mrs. Weasley with open trust. "Now, let's see about getting you a pain potion, and then we will remove those robes." Molly turned to accio the pile of potions that had landed on the floor earlier, and missed the look of terror that flashed across Malfoy's face. Harry, however, did notice, and wondered what it could mean. Was Malfoy worried about being poisoned by Mrs. Weasley? Or was he just that scared to reveal what was hidden under his robes?

Molly's gaze landed on Harry, still lingering in the parlour doorframe. "Harry, be a dear and bring me a bowl of warm water and some flannels." Harry nodded in response, but his eyes never left Malfoy's face. At Molly's words, the fearful expression melted off. Malfoy obviously didn't want Harry to witness the extent of his injuries.

As Harry walked to the kitchen, he could hear Mrs. Weasley preforming the standard health diagnostic spell that all good mothers knew. Without access to a Healer, Malfoy really couldn't be in better hands.

When Harry returned to the parlour, Mrs. Weasley had Malfoy on his stomach, his robes pushed up to his bum, exposing the backs of his long, lean legs. Molly hastened to cover them when Harry's presence became known, but not before Harry had seen dried streaks of blood marring the pale white skin. Harry didn't think Malfoy's legs were injured; the blood seemed to stem from somewhere up higher, under Malfoy's underpants. Harry reeled as his mind supplied him with exactly what type of activity could cause that. He all but threw the bowl and flannels at Mrs. Weasley, and raced from the room, barely making it to the nearest toilet before emptying the contents of his stomach in a most violent fashion.

Molly found him there, a few minutes later, head still hung over the bowl. She ran a soothing hand over his back, and helped him to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily. "Harry, love, you need to rest. Get some sleep, and I will catch you up on everything tomorrow."

As if Harry would be able to sleep! But he nodded his agreement anyway. At the stairs, he hesitated, and turned back towards Mrs. Weasley. "Er...is Malfoy going to...er...is he ok?"

"Draco has a number of injuries," Molly said almost clinically. "A lot of cuts and bruising. A few broken ribs. Some other various injuries, like burns and hex scars and...well, just other things." She closed her eyes for a second and swallowed, before continuing. "The pain potion has taken affect, and he's granted me permission to heal him to the best of my ability. I'll know more in the morning, after he has had a good rest, and the potions and spells have had time to work." Mrs. Weasley came forward, and enveloped Harry in one of her famous hugs. "I'd best get back to it. Good night, dear."

It wasn't until Harry was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, that he realized Molly didn't answer his original question, if Malfoy was going to be ok. And wasn't that answer enough all in itself.

 

Harry woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had anticipated. As he made his way downstairs, he paused briefly at the parlour entrance before continuing onto the kitchen. Malfoy was completely covered with blankets; still on the sofa that Mrs. Weasley had presumably stretched to the size of a bed. He was making tiny little snuffling noises in his sleep, and one corner of Harry's mouth turned up picturing how pissed off Malfoy would be to know that Harry was listening.

Harry found Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, humming to herself while she prepared a breakfast that would have fed the whole of Gryffindor House. Her eyes lit up, and her face broke into a big smile when she spotted Harry in the doorway. "Sit down love. Breakfast is almost ready."

Harry pulled up a spot at the scarred old table. "Have you been here all night?" he wondered.

"No, I went home and caught a couple of hours of sleep, once I got young Draco settled." She continued to hum as she served up a large plate of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, beans and tomatoes. Harry's stomach growled from the delicious smell alone. Molly smiled and made two more plates, placing one under a stasis charm. "For Draco, when he wakes up," she explained.

Harry ate like a starving man. His stomach was still slightly unsettled, but he couldn't deny that Molly's home cooked food was the best he had had in a long time. He was also in a hurry to finish, so he could ask questions about Malfoy.

Mrs. Weasley knew exactly what he was doing. "Don't choke, Harry, dear," she said with an indulgent smile. "There's no need to rush, I'm not going anywhere."

Harry tried his best to relax, and they ate in a comfortable silence. As soon as Mrs. Weasley had cleared her plate, Harry stared at her with eager interest.

Molly shook her head in a chiding fashion, but the small chuckle she let out was evidence that she was not truly upset with Harry. "Alright, let's get down to business, shall we? I'll tell you what I can, but Harry, I must make this clear; there are some things that Draco told me that must remain private."

Harry gulped and nodded. If Mrs. Weasley was referring to the injuries Harry had glimpsed last night, he was more than happy being left in the dark.

"Good boy," Mrs. Weasley murmured approvingly. "Let's begin, shall we? Apparently, he-who-must-not-be-named gave Draco the impossible task of killing Dumbledore?" She phrased it as a question, and looked to Harry seeking confirmation that he was aware of this fact. Harry nodded once again, and Molly continued, "he threatened to kill the boy's family if he failed." Harry had rarely seen Mrs. Weasley look so angry. Her tone was bitingly scathing, and Harry was glad her ire wasn't directed at him. "Dumbledore had offered Draco help, multiple times. After nearly killing Katie Bell and my own dear Ron, Draco knew he had to accept. The mission was tearing him apart!"

An image of Malfoy popped into Harry's mind. The Slytherin had looked rather unhealthy during the past term at Hogwarts. The stick-thin frame, sallow skin, and haggard features all made total sense now. The choice Malfoy had been given hadn't really been a choice at all. Either outcome would have been a terrible punishment. Voldemort had known this, and used it against Malfoy.

"Dumbledore promised protection for his whole family. They were to be set up in a safe house, with Dumbledore himself as the secret keeper. Meanwhile, while everything was being set up, Draco was supposed to proceed with his mission as assigned, so as not to alert Voldemort of Draco's change of heart." Molly's face turned sad as she sighed. "I guess we will never know exactly what happened, but months went by, and poor Draco got more frazzled by the day! He just couldn't delay it any longer, without putting his family at risk."

Harry picked up where Molly left off. "And then Draco let the Death Eaters into the castle. They all encouraged him to kill Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it. He wouldn't have done it! He was lowering his wand!" Harry was getting quite agitated now. How horrifying for Malfoy, to be waiting for help that never came through.

"I know," Mrs. Weasley said soothingly, and laid a consoling hand on top of Harry's.

They sat is silence for a few minutes before Molly mused, "Dumbledore must have set something up to rescue Draco before he died. Draco said the man who brought him here mentioned Dumbledore."

"Yes, I think you are right. Dumbledore gave me this necklace, and it acted like a portkey, bringing me here when Malfoy showed up. The Auror with Malfoy had a matching one - look, the charms have joined." Harry tried to hand the entwined dragon charms across the table to Mrs. Weasley.

"No, dear. I shouldn't touch that, if it's a magical object meant for you. Keep it safe." Harry hadn't thought of that. Dumbledore had given him one; should he keep them both? Or did one of the necklaces belong to Malfoy?

Harry's musing were cut short by approaching footsteps. Malfoy tentatively poked his head into the kitchen, avoiding Harry while throwing a "good morning," at Mrs. Weasley.

"Good morning, Draco. Sit, have something to eat. Or stand, if you prefer." Harry repressed a shiver. Had Malfoy sustained enough damage that he still was unable to sit, after all Molly's potions and spells? Suddenly his delicious breakfast was sitting like a lump in his stomach, and he fought hard to keep it down. Harry felt a great amount of relief when Malfoy pulled up a chair and sat, seemingly pain-free.

Mrs. Weasley hovered Malfoy's plate over to his spot at the table. His eyes widened in shock, and his lips turned up at the corner for just a moment. "Thank you for breakfast," Malfoy murmured, somewhat stiffly but with obvious sincerity.

Molly flushed pink with pleasure and waved a hand at him. "Nonsense dear, it was my pleasure."

It was bloody awkward, sitting at the same table as Malfoy, trying to enjoy a meal. Although from the way Mrs. Weasley beamed at them both, she doesn't agree. "Excuse me," Harry said, as he pushed his chair back from the table.

There was no reaction from Malfoy, but Molly replied, "of course, dear. I'll come talk to you before I leave."

Before she left. Mrs. Weasley was leaving. Oh Merlin, was Harry going to be stuck here alone with Malfoy? He worried on that thought all the way back to Sirius's old bedroom, where he threw himself onto the unmade bed with a thump. It wouldn't be the first time he lived with someone that hated him - the dorms at Hogwarts had gotten him quite used to that, thank you very much. And Grimmauld Place was quite spacious. They would have separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms. There wasn't much reason for them to interact at all.

Gryffindor's saggy sack, that sounded lonely. Harry would rather be alone, than living with someone who was trying to avoid him. But he and Malfoy had been enemies for years. He wasn't sure he even wanted to get along with the pointy git. Mrs. Weasley might be able to forgive and forget, but Harry didn't think it was going to be that easy, for him. What in bloody fuck would they even talk about? It was giving Harry a headache, so he closed his eyes to relieve the tension.

The next thing Harry knew, Mrs. Weasley was shaking him awake, babbling in a rushed voice. "Harry, time has slipped away from me, and I really must go. Draco and I have tested the wards in and around the house, and there is no way for him to leave. He should be perfectly safe here." Mrs. Weasley slowed her frantic speech, and fixed him with a stony stare. "That's if no one finds out that he's here. This has to be kept secret, Harry. Not even Ron and Hermione can know. On my end, I'll have to tell Arthur. He'll let the other Order members know that Grimmauld Place is off limits. We'll say you need some time and space to yourself, or something." Molly backed towards the door, smiling at Harry all the while. "I'll be back in a few days with some supplies. There should be enough food and clothes to tide you over until then." She stopped in the doorframe, a serious expression replacing her smile. "Oh, and Harry, please try to remember that Draco has been through an awful lot lately. You don't have to be best mates, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from causing each other physical damage. I am running low on healing potions at the moment."

Harry was left pondering the vast amount of information that Mrs. Weasley had tossed at him. It all boiled down to one thing; Malfoy was totally reliant on Harry. This whole situation depended on Harry providing Malfoy shelter, keeping his location secret, and making sure the prat had food and stuff. Merlin's wrinkled bollocks, he had not signed up for this!

Best to get the inevitable confrontation over with as soon as possible. Harry found Malfoy back in the parlour, sitting straight-backed on the settee. Harry sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Look, Malfoy, if we've gotta live together, let's try to make it as painless as possible for the both of us. Follow me, I'll show you to your room."

Malfoy rose without speaking, moving with practised grace to stand at Harry's side. Harry turned with a huff, and led Malfoy to Regulus's old bedroom. "Regulus Black's room. He was a Slytherin, like you." _And a prejudiced wanker, like you_ , Harry thought, but wisely kept to himself.

"He was my cousin," Malfoy said softly. "I never met him. He died before I was born." Harry waited, but Malfoy didn't seem to have anything else to say. What he had said was weird. Harry certainly hadn't been expecting the quiet admission.

"Er...yah, ok. Well, I'm starving. I'll be down in the kitchen, getting some tea. I'll leave you to settle in here." Harry escaped from the room, feeling proud of himself. He and Malfoy had held a (somewhat small) conversation, and there was no sneering, name calling, or jinxes involved.

Harry wasn't surprised when Malfoy showed up in the kitchen a short while later, just as he was sliding a grilled cheese out of the frying pan onto a clean plate. He bit back a smile at the look of shock on Malfoy's face. "Are you cooking like a muggle, Potter?"

"Yup," he answered, pouring himself a large glass of milk. "There's loads of food in the fridge, feel free to make anything you want."

Malfoy stood in front of the open fridge for a long time, poking at various things with a bony finger. "This isn't food Potter, it's ingredients!"

The outrage in Malfoy's voice had Harry smirking. "Have you really never made yourself a meal, even with magic?" Harry asked incredulously. Malfoy's confused glare was answer enough. "Not even a snack? Haven't thrown together a PB and J on occasion?"

"No, Potter, I haven't. That's what house elves are for." Malfoy's nose wrinkled in disgust. "And I have no idea what a PB whatever is, but it sounds horrid." He frowned sadly, and mumbled under his breath, "I'm going to starve to death here, aren't I?"

Harry gave a deep sigh, and slid his sandwich across the counter. He quickly assembled another one, and had it cooking in no time. When he turned back around, Malfoy was still staring at the plate, grilled cheese untouched. "Go ahead and eat it, you prat. What, are you worried that I poisoned it?"

"I wasn't until you mentioned the possibility," Malfoy muttered. Harry was about to retort when Malfoy picked up the sandwich and pulled off a small piece with long, dexterous fingers. He held it in front of him between his thumb and index finger, eyeing the bite like it was a nasty dungbomb. Finally, he popped the morsel in his mouth, and chewed daintily. Harry watched in fascination as Malfoy's Adam's apple bobbed elegantly when he swallowed. Leave it to Malfoy to turn eating a sandwich into a huge production. "It's good," Malfoy said, the astonishment evident in his voice.

"You're welcome," Harry replied. Malfoy's neck flushed pink at the implied lack of manners. They ate in stilted silence, Malfoy continuing to pick apart his grilled cheese, while Harry devoured his in large bites.

Finally, Harry couldn't stand the tension any longer. "I'm sorry about your parents. I mean, that they couldn't be rescued. I know that was part of the deal, that you asked for them to be safe, too."

Malfoy's reaction was unexpected. His face screwed up in the hateful sneer that Harry knew so well. "Bullshit, Potter. You hate my family. Don't pretend differently. You think my father got just what he deserved-"

"Of course he did!" Harry exploded. "If anyone deserves Azkaban, it's your father. Do you even know how deep he was in league with Voldemort?" Harry was quite aware that he was shouting, but he couldn't seem to stop. Malfoy glared back at him, utter loathing in his eyes. "He was there in the graveyard when Voldemort came back. Slimy git, he threw other people under the bus to curry Voldemort's favour. He was at the Department of Mysteries. He would have killed me, many times over, to stay in Voldemort's good graces. Is that really something you look up to, Malfoy? Do you still aspire to be like him? Because you don't seem like a murderer to me."

Malfoy had closed his eyes, and his hands were bunched into tight fists at his sides. He was breathing heavily through his nose. Harry couldn't understand why he wasn't being punched, or jinxed, or both. "I'm surprised you haven't hexed me yet," Harry admitted, once he calmed down a little.

Malfoy cracked one eye open, and responded woodenly, "I promised Mrs. Weasley that I wouldn't.

"Hah!" Harry guffawed. Malfoy was now staring at him in disbelief. "She conned the same promise out of me," Harry admitted with a grin. Malfoy's mouth quirked up the tiniest bit in one corner, causing Harry's stomach to clench. Was it possible for him and Malfoy to come to an understanding, and possibly even get along? It would make living together a lot less disagreeable. Only time would tell.

* * *

It was still awkward. Really, supremely, terrifyingly awkward, living with Draco Malfoy.

For starters, Malfoy seemed to follow Harry where ever he went. If Harry wanted a snack, Malfoy showed up in the kitchen, demanding tea. When Harry tried to read in the library, Malfoy joined not long after, flipping the pages of his own book with pale fingers. The only places where Harry had privacy were his bedroom and the bathroom.

At first, Malfoy's behaviour drove him spare. Was he spying on Harry? Trying to gather information to take back to Voldemort? Then Harry noticed little things, like how Malfoy jumped when there was an unexplained noise in the old house. Or how he couldn't enter a room without all the lights being turned on. Harry came to the conclusion that Malfoy didn't want to be alone, most likely because he was scared.

This knowledge would have made his day back at Hogwarts. Malfoy had used Harry's own fears to traumatize and bully him more than once. Harry finally had ammunition for payback. Except now he didn't want to use it. It felt wrong, to make fun of Malfoy. From what Harry had seen when Malfoy first arrived, his fears were more than justified.

So they settled into an uneasy truce. As the days and then weeks went by, they began to actually talk to one another. By mutual, non-spoken agreement, they steered clear of hotbutton topics, and instead discussed what it was like for Harry being raised by muggles (awful), and for Malfoy growing up in the Manor in the country (lonely). They played wizard chess and read books and flipped through Sirius's old magazine collection.

Mrs. Weasley stopped by at least twice a week, bringing them clean clothes and fresh food. She always made them a delicious meal, and stocked the fridge with easy to prepare items that Harry reheated gingerly with magic. Malfoy was still pants at anything related to cooking. He really would most likely starve without Harry and Molly.

Mrs. Weasley always made time to sit and speak with Malfoy during her visits. She did this thing, where she gently stroked the long hair out of Malfoy's eyes, and rubbed his forehead with her thumb. The simple touch pulled Malfoy out of even the foulest moods. It was strange, watching pureblood supremacist Draco Malfoy interact tenderly with blood traitor Molly Weasley. Harry wondered what would happen between them when Malfoy got his own mother back.

One evening, following a visit from Molly, Malfoy was in a rather pleasant mood. The boys were playing wizard chess, and for once, Harry was winning. He had improved a great deal under Malfoy's tutelage, and was now convinced that Ron had deliberately been a poor teacher, to ensure his ongoing victories. After Harry won yet another of Malfoy's pieces, the blonde asked quietly, "why didn't you shake my hand?"

Harry was confused for a moment. He couldn't remember anytime recently when Malfoy had offered him his hand. Then the realization hit him like cold water from an Aguamenti charm. Malfoy was talking about that first fateful journey on the Hogwarts Express, so many years ago.

"Are you taking the piss, Malfoy?" The other boy just shook his head, meeting Harry's eyes in a defiant manner. "Seriously? Ok, let me set the scene for you. Picture a boy, a little runty from lack of food, a little shy from constant berating and mockery. He had been called a freak, a loser, a no-good degenerate all his life. Suddenly, a gentle giant of a man shows up, all friendly and kind. With a cake! Merlin, I'd never had a whole slice of cake to myself. Anyway, that same man assures the boy that he is not a freak. In fact, he's special. He's a wizard, and he can escape his horrible childhood and meet other people, just like him, and finally fit in. Finally have friends. Now imagine this same boy, meeting a wizard his own age for the first time. That wizard puts down the gentle giant who has been so kind, who bought him the first birthday present he could remember receiving. Later, when they meet again, the same wizard mocks the only friend the young boy has ever made in his whole life, and makes fun of his dead parents. Tell me, Malfoy, if you were that boy, would you have shaken hands with the other young wizard?"

Malfoy had dropped his gaze, and was squirming in his seat in a somewhat uncomfortable fashion. "All this time, I believed you thought you were too good for me. 'Famous Harry Potter', and all that rot." Malfoy scowled. "Looking back, I should have known it was for some noble reason."

The evening turned strained after that. Harry had no idea what to say. Their circumstances were just so different. They continued to play chess in silence, but the fun had been pulled out of the game.

Malfoy was having some kind of internal struggle, if the pinched expression on his face was any indication. When he eventually spoke, Harry expected a harsh diatribe. What he actually said caught Harry totally off guard. "Can we at least agree that Hagrid was a truly appalling teacher?"

Harry sputtered for a moment before managing to say, "that's not true! Hagrid was an excellent teacher. I learned loads of useful stuff in Care of Magical Creatures."

"Yah, so did I, when Professor Grubbly-Plank took over. Come on, Potter! I'm willing to admit the hippogriff attack wasn't totally the big oaf's fault." Harry let out a derisive snort, that was waved away by Malfoy. "But he was still utter shite as a teacher. Those monster books? Not funny. The blast-ended skrewts? Dangerous and illegal. There must have been a reason why you didn't continue the class past your O.W.L. year."

"I was just so busy, my schedule was too full, and..." Harry trailed off, his explanation getting tangled on his tongue. "Yah, alright. Hagrid was a rubbish teacher, is that what you wanted to hear? His lessons were a total shambles."

"Yes, Potter, that is exactly what I wanted to hear." Malfoy's face lit up with a sunny smile, without a hint of sarcasm or insult. In all the years Harry had been at school with Malfoy, and the weeks spent together in Grimmauld Place, Harry had never seen Malfoy smile in such an honest, open way. And the fact that it was aimed directly at Harry...well, that certainly didn't have Harry's insides flopping over.

Harry pulled his attention away from the pale face across from him. He concentrated instead on the chessboard, made his move, and said triumphantly, "Checkmate!"

Malfoy's answering good-humoured laugh had Harry's stomach flip-flopping once again. _I've lost the bloody plot_ , Harry thought, before excusing himself and hauling his arse up to bed.

* * *

Harry found himself working at getting Malfoy to smile and laugh.  Making Malfoy happy also made Harry happy, so it was a win-win situation.

Plus Malfoy looked really pretty when his face lit up with a foolish grin.

But mostly, it was the thrill of seeing joy in the expression of someone who had looked so miserable for a whole year.  Harry cared.  He actually care about Draco Malfoy and his bloody feelings.  

When had that happened? When had Harry stopped seeing Malfoy as the enemy, and started considering him a friend? Or if not a friend, at least a close, albeit annoying and sometimes whiny, acquaintance.

Maybe it started back in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where Harry saw the human side of Draco Malfoy for the first time. Or possibly on the Astronomy Tower, when the cracks in his facade really started to show.

Whenever this softening of Harry's animosity had started, by the time Malfoy showed up at Grimmauld Place, bloody, beaten and half-starved from torture, Harry's hatred was gone. There were some hard feelings, and maybe a few held grudges. It went both ways. Malfoy still harboured lingering bitterness about Harry's fame, and what he called Harry's "unnatural good luck and unsporting excess of skills".

The truth of the matter was, for the first time since their meeting in Diagon Alley years ago, Harry saw Malfoy for what he was; a boy. They were both just boys. Raised to believe totally different things, stuck on opposite sides of a war they didn't start, destined to play big parts regardless of if they wanted to or not. Away from the influence of his parents and Slytherin friends, Malfoy was just a sixteen year old kid, same as Harry. And when stripped of his pureblood prejudices, he was actually a not-so-bad bloke.

Malfoy was funny. He had a biting sense of humour, with a really quick wit, and was quite sarcastic. And as much as Harry didn't want to admit it, Malfoy was sharp. Like, Hermione calibre smart. He had a great mind for puzzles and riddles; had he not been such a proud Slytherin, Harry thought he would have flourished in Ravenclaw. Surprisingly, he was also a lot of fun. When he finally quit complaining about being bored all the time, and stopped laying around pouting, he came up with lots of ways for the two of them to amuse themselves. _And he's fit_ , Harry's mind supplied helpfully, but he was able to bury that thought deep in the far recesses of his brain.

Right now they were occupying separate sofas in the parlour. They spent a lot of time in that room. It was where Malfoy seemed most comfortable. Harry was laying on his back, head propped on a pillow, reading a muggle novel he found in Sirius's room. Malfoy was sprawled on his stomach on his own settee, chin resting on his hands, staring at Harry.

"I can feel your eyes on me, Malfoy. What the fuck do you want?" Harry asked in a playful tone.

"I'm bored. Stop being so selfish and entertain me."

Harry heaved out a great sigh, and lowered his book, scowling in Malfoy's direction. The blonde had a large, calculating grin on his face. "Liar. You already have something in mind."

Malfoy tapped his index finger to the side of his nose. "You're not as dumb as you look, Potter." He flopped over onto his back, so they were no longer making direct eye contact. "Tell me a secret."

"A secret?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, something interesting and juicy about your life. Something no one else knows."

Luckily, the perfect response came to Harry right away. "I was almost sorted into Slytherin. The Sorting Hat thought I'd do well there."

"Hmmmm," Malfoy hummed consideringly. "You might have done, if you weren't the figurehead hero of the light side. Quidditch would have been a lot more fun with you on the same team. But that's not really a juicy secret, Potter. Surely you can do better than that."

"Fine, you twat. Give me a moment to think." What would Malfoy consider an interesting secret? Maybe something that involved him? "I was there, that night on the Astronomy Tower."

"What?" Malfoy whispered. "What do you mean?"

"I was with Dumbledore, the night that he died. He had me hide under my invisibility cloak. He cast a full body-bind curse on me, I couldn't move or speak. But I heard and saw everything."

Malfoy barked a laugh. "Of course you did. Dumbledore's little pet, you were. Went everywhere with him, I suspect."

Harry bristled at the harsh words. "Better than being a pet Death Eater."

There was a short silence. Then Malfoy muttered, "much better, I imagine," and Harry felt like a complete tosser. He knew Malfoy had asked for help. He knew how the Death Eaters had treated him; he had seen the physical evidence with his own eyes, even if Malfoy refused to talk about it.

"Fuck, this isn't going the way I had planned." Harry sat up and turned towards Malfoy. He couldn't see his face, just his silky blonde hair falling over the arm of the sofa. It really was getting quite long. Harry ran a hand through his own messy hair, and continued. "Look, I wasn't trying to have a laugh at your expense. I just...I saw you lower your wand. I know you weren't going to kill Dumbledore. It must have been a bloody nightmare, waiting for Dumbledore to come through on his promise of help. I can't even..." Harry trailed off weakly.

The silence between them was longer this time. After a few minutes, Malfoy stiffly sat up. Harry was sure he would get up and walk out. Malfoy was a very proud person, and Harry had just dented that pride.

Malfoy did stand, but only to move onto Harry's sofa and sit next to him. Harry's right thigh was pressed into Malfoy's left from hip to knee. His stomach did a peculiar little squirming thing, like it was full of light butterflies and heavy rocks, all turning and mixing around at the same time. When Malfoy started nervously rubbing his hands up and down over his thighs, catching Harry's leg with the back of his arm, the butterflies took flight, flutttering madly in his belly.

"I guess it's my turn for a secret," Malfoy said ruefully. "You'll hate me again after this."

Harry didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hate Malfoy. It would break his....well, it wouldn't be good, would it, with them living in the same house and all. "Maybe you should try a different secret," Harry suggested hopefully.

Malfoy shook his head, and let out a shuddering breath. "You were there, you saw me lower my wand. You think I'm redeemable, that I can be saved, because I didn't, or couldn't, kill Dumbledore. But the truth is," Malfoy paused to swallow, "the truth is," he continued in a whisper, "I wanted to." Malfoy looked Harry straight in the eyes, and his gaze was filled with regret and defiance and anger. "I wanted to kill him. He promised to help me, to protect me and my family. And he lied. I thought, 'Potter trusts him.' But I wasn't Harry Potter. I was just Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater. No rush to get me out of a life and death situation. So yah, that's my dirty little secret. By the time I was standing over Dumbledore on the tower, still playing my part and hanging on to a small shred of hope that help would come, even that late, I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to die. And then when he did, I thought I'd feel vindicated. But I didn't. I only felt remorse. I'd finally believed in Dumbledore, and he let me down, just like Father, and Riddle, and everyone else in my life who fed me false promises to get their own way."

Malfoy's hands were flying so fast up and down his legs, Harry was worried he was going to start a fire. He reached out and covered Malfoy's closest hand with one of his own, forcing it to stop. "I understand. And I don't hate you." He intertwined their fingers for a moment, before giving a quick squeeze and letting go. "Thanks for telling me."

Malfoy looked at him bemusedly. "You are such a bloody Hufflepuff, Potter," he said with disdain. "You're welcome, I guess."

Harry grabbed a cushion off of the sofa and swung it around, smacking Malfoy square in the face. The strained atmosphere dissolved. Malfoy let out an undignified grunt, and pushed Harry firmly on the shoulders with both hands. It was normal guy play-fighting, something two old friends would do. They had cracked another barrier in their relationship, and Harry wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

He did know that when Malfoy grabbed his hand and held it for the entire walk to their bedrooms, his stomach did the squirmy butterfly rock thing again. He hadn't felt like that since....well, since he last kissed Ginny Weasley.

Fuck. Harry was utterly and completely snookered.

* * *

Harry knew he was going to have to leave the comfort of Grimmauld Place soon. He had a job to do; he needed to find and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes, if anyone was going to have a fighting chance at finishing off the maniacal dark wizard for good.

His reluctance to leave wasn't just because he would be missing out on a proper bed and Molly's delicious cooking. Harry was also worried about what would become of Malfoy. The Slytherin had never lived alone, and wasn't used to looking after himself in even the simplest of ways. Harry had tried to give him a crash course in food preparation, but more often than not, what Malfoy produced was glaringly inedible.

After weeks of avoiding the subject, and dodging Malfoy's questions, Harry finally came clean. "Malfoy, I'm leaving for good tomorrow. I've got a job from Dumbledore I need to carry out, and I can't put it off any longer."

Malfoy gaped at him, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times like a fish. Then he seemed to pull himself together, standing up straight and giving his head a shake, his fine blonde hair falling forward into his eyes. Harry tracked the motion of Malfoy's hand pushing it back to tuck behind his ear. "You're leaving. Tomorrow," he stated in a flat voice. Harry waited for the blowup. For an angry, irate Malfoy to scream at him. It never came. Instead, Malfoy turned on his heel and strode away to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. And so, on Harry's last evening in civilization, he spent it alone, worrying about Malfoy's reaction instead of planning his own mission.

Harry was getting ready for bed when he heard a light knock. Malfoy stood in the doorway of Harry's bedroom, looking worried. "What's up, Malfoy?" Harry asked in an upbeat voice. Just a hint of a tremour squeaked through, but Malfoy probably wouldn't notice.

"Nothing's 'up', Potter," Malfoy replied scathingly. "How can anything be 'up' for me? I'm stuck here in this house." He leaned casually on the doorjam, projecting an aura of disinterest. Probably hoping to appear aloof and relaxed, Harry thought. Unfortunately for Malfoy, Harry was aware of his tells, and noticed his slightly shaking hands and jittery leg. Malfoy was nervous.

"At least you'll be safe," Harry replied, turning his back on the other boy.

A firm hand grasped Harry's wrist, and spun him around. Malfoy was right in Harry's face, and he no longer looked aloof. In fact, he look quite enraged, and maybe a little lost. "Safe? You think I'm worried about being safe?" Malfoy asked incredulously. He dropped Harry's hand quickly. "You must have been planning your departure for quite some time, yet you never once mentioned it to me. Do you really think so little of me, Potter? After all this time? You still don't care enough to even alert me of your plans, until the night before you leave? Glad to be shot of me, I presume?"

Harry was shocked. Malfoy had gotten it all wrong, as usual. "Of course I care about you," Harry said. The instant it came out of his mouth, he realized how it sounded, and attempted damage control. "Er, I mean...look, Malfoy, this is actually hard for me. I don't want to leave Grimmauld Place, and I don't want to leave you, either. I am worried about how you'll fare, after I'm gone. I just...I didn't want to talk about it, because it made it too real. I guess I wanted to enjoy some normal downtime, before I had to go back to reality." He rung his hands a little, hoping his explanation made sense. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Malfoy replied quietly.

"Yah, oh." Harry gave him a wry smile. "I've asked Kreatcher, the old Black family house elf, to return to Grimmauld Place and serve you while you are here. He can be a handful, but he loves pureblood wizards, so you'll probably get on just fine." He attempted to lighten the mood, and elbowed Malfoy playfully in the ribs. "He'll make sure you don't starve."

"But he won't play chess with me, or make fun of muggle magazines with me, or teach me to cook, will he?" Harry was quite sure it was a rhetorical question, and wisely kept his mouth shut. "Well, good luck, Potter. You're probably the best chance we have of defeating the Dark Lord. Stay safe."

"I'll try," Harry promised. Malfoy nodded once, and after a final searching look, went back to his own bedroom.

It was a long time before Harry's heart calmed down enough for him to even contemplate sleep.

 

A sudden cry wrenched Harry awake. Without even registering what was happening, Harry had jumped out of bed, grabbed his wand, and was moving toward's Malfoy's bedroom. Malfoy usually protected his room with numerous locking and silencing charms, but had perhaps forgotten tonight with all of the drama. Harry crashed through the door just in time to see Malfoy let out a strangled scream, while thrashing on the bed. He had kicked the covers off, and his bare upper body was glistening with beaded sweat. Harry ran to the bedside, and lay a palm on Malfoy's burning forehead. Malfoy just groaned; he was sound asleep.

How would Malfoy want to be comforted? Harry sat on the edge of the bed, and smoothed the damp hair gently off of Malfoy's forehead, like he had seen Mrs. Weasley do. "It's just a nightmare, it's not real," he murmured over and over, all the while stroking Malfoy's soft, pale hair. Malfoy eventually stilled, his whole body relaxing.

Harry pulled his hand away, and went to leave the room. "Wait, don't go," Malfoy pleaded. His large grey eyes popped open, and stared at Harry beseechingly. "Can you stay, just for a few more minutes?" Harry sat back down, and quick as a flash, Malfoy rested his head in Harry's lap. After a moment of hesitation, Harry began brushing his fingers through Malfoy's hair again. The situation had turned oddly intimate. Malfoy made the cutest sound, like a cross between a purr and a hum, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. He leaned back on Malfoy's headboard, in no real hurry to leave.

Malfoy lifted his head, and said, "swing your legs up onto the bed." Harry complied, and this time Malfoy lay his head on Harry's chest, almost directly over his heart. "Do you think you could stay with me? I'm facing a long stretch of being on my own after tomorrow, and I don't want to be alone tonight."

 _Not a good_ _idea, this is not a_ _good_ _idea_ , Harry thought desperately. But his body didn't seem to agree with his mind. He was already shuffling down the headboard, aligning his head with the pillows on Malfoy's bed. He lay stiffly on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Malfoy shuffled too, and curled up around Harry's side, his head still resting on Harry's chest. "Thanks, Potter," he said with a satisfied sigh.

Harry thought he'd be awake all night; that it would be too awkward for him to get comfortable, and he wouldn't be able to relax enough to fall asleep. Merlin, was he wrong. Maybe it was the coziness of a warm body next to him. Whatever the reason, Harry was asleep within minutes.

He awoke a few hours later, disoriented in the dark. Malfoy was breathing deeply, blowing hot little puffs of air right onto his neck. With dawning horror, Harry realized he was getting hard. He had never actually slept this close to another person before. Malfoy's naked chest was pressed against his side, letting off an arousing heat, which Harry could feel through his thin tshirt. At some point, Malfoy had slung an arm around Harry's waist, and his hand rested right over Harry's hip bone, dangerously close to his traitorous cock. Malfoy had also looped a leg over top of Harry, nestling it in between Harry's own. He was basically pinned to the bed by a warm, sleeping Malfoy, and fuck, did his dick like the sound of that.

It was impossible to extricate himself without waking Malfoy up, and it was also impossible to go back to sleep. Harry did the only thing he could - he stopped overthinking, and enjoyed the moment. He lowered his mouth to the top of Malfoy's head, and planted a kiss on the fine, silky hair. He ran his free hand up and down Malfoy's bare arm with featherlight strokes.

At some point, Malfoy must have woken up, because the puffs of air on Harry's neck stopped, replaced by soft kisses and nips running up his jaw. Then Malfoy bit down on his earlobe, and Harry thought dazedly, _is this really happening_?

Malfoy rolled over on top of Harry, and pushed himself up, straddling Harry's lap. Suddenly Harry's erection wasn't so embarrassing, in light of Malfoy's firm bulge pressing into Harry's thigh. Harry's hands went up to grasp Malfoy's waist, settling over his slim hips. Merlin, he was gorgeous. Why had Harry ever thought that Malfoy was unattractively pointy? Now that he had gained back a little weight, he was the model picture of aristocratic beauty. All lean muscle, and lush, pale skin. Harry slid one hand off Malfoy's waist, and smoothed up and down his side in awe.

Malfoy bent at the waist, pushing his lips onto Harry's with the perfect firm pressure. In the past, when people said they 'saw fireworks' or 'got weak kneed' from kissing, Harry had assumed they were exaggerating. He had kissed Cho and Ginny, and never had that type of reaction. His previous kisses had been nothing like this. He didn't actually see fireworks, but his vision did flare white for a bit behind his closed eyelids. And while he didn't get weak knees, his body did become much more pliable and fluid, and he sank happily into the mattress, perfectly content to go on snogging Malfoy forever.  When Malfoy's tongue touched Harry's with a tentative swipe, a burning fire of hunger and need lit and spread through Harry's entire body.

With strength and self-confidence that Harry didn't know he possessed, he grabbed Malfoy and flipped them over so their positions were reversed. Malfoy looked so angelic and innocent, staring up at Harry from a halo of white-blonde hair with iridescent silver eyes. Then he smiled a truly lurid grin, and Harry fell, attacking his plump pink lips with abandon.

Things had already progressed further than Harry had ever ventured in the bedroom, but he wasn't embarrassed or nervous. At this point, he just let his body's natural instincts take over. And as Harry circled his hips, and ground his cock down on Malfoy's groin, Malfoy's little answering whimpers let him know his instincts were spot on. Harry pushed his hips down again, and this time their hard cocks came in direct contact with each other through the fabric of their pants. Malfoy broke the kiss and arched his back, exposing his long, pale throat to Harry as he moaned deeply. It was the most provocative thing Harry had ever seen.

Malfoy was fumbling at Harry's pants, pulling the waistband over Harry's aching cock and letting it spring free. He grasped Harry's hand, and brought it to his own groin. Harry pressed his palm onto Malfoy's bulge, eliciting the hottest moan from the blonde. Suddenly the most important thing in Harry's world was seeing Malfoy's cock. He slid Malfoy's pants down over his hips, onto his thighs. Malfoy's cock lay heavy and hard against his stomach, nestled in a small thatch of blonde curls. The head poking out from the foreskin was flushed the same colour pink as Malfoy's cheeks. Harry needed to touch it, so he reached out with one hand, running his knuckles up and down along the length. Malfoy let out a stilted cry. He guided one hand to encircled both of their pricks, tugging them together in the most thrilling and sexy wank of Harry's life. It was rough, with little finesse, but still totally perfect. Harry couldn't help thrusting forward into the firm clench of Malfoy's grip. With every push, the head of Harry's cock rubbed exquisitely against Malfoy's own dick, providing intense and delicious friction. He stared in fascination at his cock disappearing over and over again into Malfoy's warm hand, captivated by the sight of their bodies meeting in such an intimate way. Everything was so intense. With a grunt, Harry came all over Malfoy's hand and dick and stomach way too soon. Malfoy groaned, and Harry felt his whole body tense up on the bed beneath him. He opened his eyes just in time to see Malfoy's cock spurt thick, white ropes of come, his orgasm mingling with Harry's. It should have been dirty and obscene, but Harry found it undeniably erotic.

Malfoy lay on the bed panting, and Harry couldn't resist leaning down and placing a sweet kiss on his lips. Malfoy's answering smile was gorgeous.

A pleasurable heat spread across Harry's chest. It was more than just the giddy happiness of his heart. "Uh, you're glowing," Malfoy said in alarm. Harry looked down, and saw a faint light emanating from beneath his tshirt. He reached in the neck hole, and drew out the joined dragon charms.

Malfoy sat up, with Harry still straddling his legs, and reached out towards the charm. As soon as his finger made contact, the dragons split back into separate charms. One of the leather cords pulled away from Harry's body and strained towards Malfoy. Harry tugged it off over his head and hung it around Malfoy's neck. "Here, I think this belongs to you."

Malfoy huffed out a laugh. "Are we first year Hufflepuffs now, Potter, with matching charms? Do you give jewelry to all your conquests?" He dropped his head forward onto Harry's shoulder.

"Nope, you're my first," Harry answered honestly. Malfoy pulled back and gave him a searching look, cocking his head to one side. "The first I've given jewelry to, and my first conquest, period."

Malfoy looked more pleased than Harry had ever seen him. A bit of the old, smug Malfoy was there, but for once, it didn't bother Harry. Malfoy grabbed his wand, and cleaned them up with a quick cleaning charm. Then he grabbed Harry by the neck, and pulled him down into the bed. After a final, surprisingly tender kiss, he turned away from Harry, and wiggled backwards until his back and arse were nestled up snugly to Harry's chest and groin. "I never pictured you as a cuddler, Malfoy. Or the little spoon."

"What?" Malfoy asked sleepily.

"It's a muggle saying. Never mind. Let's go to sleep."

"Ummhmmm," Malfoy hummed in agreement. "And you'll stay the night, and be here when I wake up, right?"

"Right," Harry lied.


	2. Sinking

I _can’t help but be wrong in the dark_  
_'Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts_  
_I can’t help but want oceans to part_  
_'Cause I’m overcome in this war of hearts_

* * *

Harry snuck away like a thief in the night.

He felt like such a hypocrite, tip-toeing out of Malfoy's bedroom in the twilight hours before daybreak. Leaving Malfoy alone, with no explanation, and only a crotchety old house elf for company. Merlin, he was a coward.

Harry had always taken pride in himself on being brave and true. It was gutless snakes like Malfoy who were cowards. Or so Harry had once believed, until he got to know the boy better. In an absurd turn from the norm, Harry was now the weakling, and Malfoy was the wronged party.  It left Harry with a sour taste in his mouth and a lead balloon weighing heavily on his chest. Guilt. This is what guilt felt like; Harry had experienced the sensation enough times in the past to be sure.

Ron and Hermione didn't understand his melancholy mood. How could they, when Harry was unable to explain the situation? With Harry gone from Grimmauld Place, Malfoy needed his location kept secret, now more than ever. Hermione had loads of ideas on where to search for horcruxes, and Harry was more than happy to let her take the lead. He knew his companions were frustrated with his lack of focus, but he just couldn't be arsed to care.

Harry was confused. Really, truly, deep down in his heart discombobulated and screwed up over what happened in Malfoy's bedroom. He didn't even like blokes. Not in the 'I want to snog and/or shag your brains out' kind of way. Six years of communal showers at Hogwarts had given him plenty of opportunity to peek at other boy's bits. And besides being surprised at the immersive girth (Neville) or lack thereof (Cormac McClaggen) of some, he had never felt any particular attraction to another guy.

Maybe it was just Malfoy. That somehow made it better and worse, all at once.

He couldn't deny that his last fleeting glances of Malfoy lingered heavily in his mind. He had had to pry himself away from the warm body snuggled cozily against his own. In that moment, Malfoy had looked heartbreakingly beautiful. There was a delicate charm, almost a fragility, in his soft, sleeping expression. Gone was the tension and worry that Harry was so used to seeing. Even when Malfoy was at his most even-tempered, his face had never been so relaxed and serene.

Harry had placed one final kiss on a pale eyebrow, eliciting a tiny grunt of contentment from the sleeping boy.  Walking out of the bedroom and leaving Grimmauld Place was one of the hardest things Harry had ever done.  Yet, it was also a relief.  At least he had avoided an awkward, stilted conversation about their nighttime escapades.  And now he had a surplus of time to make sense of his jumbled thoughts and feelings.

Every time he looked at Ron, Harry was reminded of Ginny.  Gorgeous, perfect Ginny.  They had broken up at the end of sixth year, but not because Harry didn't like her.  Quite the opposite, actually.  It wasn't fair to be dating someone while you were risking your life, and totally unavailable.  So what happened with Malfoy wasn't cheating, technically.   It still made Harry feel awful.  Just more guilt to weigh down his chest.

Ginny had been invisible to Harry, just Ron's shy little sister, until one day, she wasn't.  It was like Harry had blinders pulled off his eyes, and he saw all the amazing qualities he had overlooked in Ginny before.  She wasn't shy at all, really.  She was outspoken and passionate and sharp.  And fierce.  Merlin, you didn't want to get on Ginny's bad side; no one was more stubborn, or better at the bat-bogey hex.  Harry liked all that about Ginny.  He liked that she knew her own mind, and expressed her opinions.  He liked her competitive spirit, and her loyalty to her friends and family.

Harry lay back on his cot and closed his eyes, willing his brain to bring up an image of Ginny.  Instead of soft curves and flowing fiery hair, he pictured long, angular limbs and pale features.  A firm chest and slender fingers.  A snarky smile that made his insides feel funny.

Harry had never meant to compare them, but now he could see the similarities between Malfoy and Ginny.  All the personality traits that Harry had so loved about Ginny, were also possessed by Malfoy.  Except maybe the bat-bogey hex.  But otherwise, the intelligence, the intensity, the drive, the love of family; all descriptors of Draco Malfoy.  Apparently Harry had a 'type', and gender was not an issue.  He covered his face with his hands and groaned.

Ginny had other good points though.  Like sticking up for younger, or less able, students.  Malfoy, on the other hand, used his position and talent to threaten and torment those kids, and further his own social status.  Ginny was a good, kindhearted person.  Malfoy was...well, he was a wanker, wasn't he?  A bully, an arrogant, pretentious prat.

 _That's not the Malfoy you know,_ Harry's mind supplied helpfully.   _At least, not anymore._ Harry had to admit that was true.  The Malfoy he had lived with at Grimmauld Place was different.  Still a little conceited and pompous, but also gracious and warm.

And the attraction Harry felt for the other boy was undeniable.  Never had a kiss left him so breathless, or heated up his blood so much.  

Maybe Harry had Stockholme syndrome.  Maybe they both did, stuck together in the dank, dreary confines of Grimmauld Place, with only each other for company.

 _Or maybe you've fallen for your childhood nemesis,_ a voice in his head taunted.  _Maybe you've always cared a little to much about what Draco Malfoy was up to. Maybe this was inevitable._

_Maybe I'm going fucking insane._

* * *

Getting wrenched awake by portkey activation was unquestionably awful.  Harry wondered at first if he was experiencing a particularly vivid dream.  Slamming into the hard wood floor of Grimmauld Place's parlour killed that hope.  

Oddly enough for that time of night, the room was brightly lit.  Draco Malfoy stood frozen, staring at Harry with an blazing intensity, wand pointed at his chest.  It was not the reunion Harry had hoped for.

"Malfoy," Harry croaked, pulling himself to his feet.  He took a step towards the boy, hand outstretched by instinct.

A terse voice called from down the hall, "Draco, we need to leave."  The haughty face of Severus Snape poked into the room, followed quickly by an agile body cloaked in billowing robes.

"You!" Harry yelled in alarm.  He fumbled for his wand before realizing it was back in the tent, tucked safely under his pillow.

Snape scowled at him.  "Yes, me," he drawled, raising his wand hand lazily and casting a non-verbal spell on Harry.   His entire body froze in place.  At least he didn't fall over flat on his face, so it wasn't a full body-bind curse.  Or end up dead, like Dumbledore.  Regardless, Harry needed to fight this off.  He couldn't leave Malfoy in Snape's hands.

Using all the concentration and mental strength he could muster, Harry pushed back against Snape's magic.  The spell was well-cast and strong.  It didn't want to bend to Harry's will.  Harry started to panic.  Fear flooded his mind as the picture of the broken Malfoy that first arrived at Grimmauld Place flittered through his thoughts.  He couldn't let Snape win; he couldn't bare it if Malfoy was back at the mercy of Voldemort and the Death Eaters.  Harry felt the tiniest flicker in the spell's tight hold.  Maybe the key to breaking its grip was emotion.  It had certainly driven Voldemort out of his head.

Harry gathered all his confused, baffling feelings about Malfoy and PUSHED once again.  The spell didn't break, but it did loosen, and it was enough to at least sigh out, "Malfoy.  Don't go with him."

Although Malfoy hadn't been hit by a curse, he had been standing as immobile as Harry for a few moments.  Harry's voice seemed to jar him back to life.  "What do you care, Potter?"  His face twisted up in the bitter sneer Harry remembered so well from Hogwarts.  "I'm just a worthless Death Eater, after all.  Not someone the Chosen One would voluntarily want to spend time with."

Harry gritted his teeth and forced the words out past the power of Snape's magic.  "I do care, Malfoy.  I'm sorry.  I care-"

"We don't have time for this," Snape interrupted impatiently.  "We need to leave.  NOW, Draco."

Malfoy's face had fallen, the sneer slipping off at Harry's words.  His expression was unguarded in a way that Harry was unused to seeing, filled with uncertain longing.  Harry still couldn't move, so he pleaded with this eyes.  He filled them with all his remorse, and guilt, and affection.  

It seemed to be working; Malfoy took an unconscious step forward, towards Harry.  He shook his head and dropped his silver eyes, fracturing their tenuous connection.  "I can't stay here any longer, Potter.  I can't hide away and do nothing," Malfoy whispered pleadingly.  "I need to look after my mother.  I can't abandon my family, the people I love."

 _Then don't abandon me,_ Harry thought, but he knew this was selfish.  He had left Malfoy first.  And at no point had the other boy implied that he loved Harry.  Except that one stolen night, that seemed more like a dream than ever.

As much as Harry wanted Malfoy to stay, to be safe and secure and **alive**  at Grimmauld Place, he understood why Malfoy needed to leave.  Harry would have done the same, given the circumstances.  Harry both despised and respected Malfoy's choice, in equal measure.

Before Harry could reply, Snape stalked forward, pushing his greasy face into Harry's own.  The urge to flinch back was enormous, but the spell still had him locked in place.  In a surprisingly gentle voice, Snape said, "Draco has a part to play in this war yet, much like you, Potter."  He leaned in closer yet, hot stale breath brushing Harry's ear.  "Trust your instincts."  He quickly straightened, and strode away from Harry, grabbing Draco by the upper arm as he went.

It was all so reminiscent of the night that Dumbledore died; Harry watching Snape and Malfoy run away, yet again.  This time, it felt like a piece of his heart was being taken, too.  Harry took a deep breath and pushed again with his magic.  He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, he didn't have a specific goal in mind.  He just didn't want to lose Malfoy.  A great surge of magic left his body, almost like an explosion.  Malfoy squealed, as if in pain.  As exhaustion overtook him, and Harry's vision turned black, he murmured, "Malfoy.  Draco..." before a hook pierced his navel and he started to spin.  He was unconcious before he landed.

 

Harry awoke to the usual sounds of Hermione bustling around the tent, and Ron mumbling crankily to himself.  The events of the previous night could have all been just an explicitly detailed nightmare.  

As Harry moved to sit up, a pain stabbed at his chest.  He lifted his shirt gingerly, exposing a red, burnt-looking sore.  Had Snape's spell left this physical mark on his body?

Just then, Ron walked up to his cot.  "Rise and shine, mate.  Hermione is in a rush to move along."  He rolled his eyes dramatically.  "Say, where did that scar come from?  Looks kind of like a ferret.  Ha!  You've got a ferrety git tattoo close to your heart!"  Ron wandered away, yelling out a promise to help Hermione make something edible for breakfast out of their meager food supply.

Harry craned his neck down to inspect his new scar.  Recognition washed over him instantly.  The shape was identical to the dragon charm Dumbledore had given him.  Which, weirdly enough, seemed to be missing, although Harry refused to ever take it off.  He could see why Ron had thought it was a ferret.  The shape was indistinct from the manual wear on the charm, leaving the legs quite stumpy and the body thinned out.

The scar had ceased aching, so Harry cautiously lifted a finger to stroke the raised, red skin.  His body jolted, and emotions flooded through him.  Mostly terror, but with an underlying hint of resolve and defiance.  Harry gasped and lifted his finger.  Another scar picking up on someone's emotions?  Was it Voldemort again?

Only one way to find out.  Harry swallowed down his trepidation, and covered the scar completely with his hand.  He could feel his heart pounding a frantic rhythm in his chest.  He closed his eyes to better view the vision that was filling his mind.  

_His eyes were downcast, staring at a pair of dragonhide boots that appeared to be on his feet.  A mumbled, "yes, my lord.  Thank you, my lord," left his mouth.  The grovelling words disgusted him.  Harry didn't want to raise his eyes.  He didn't want to see Voldemort's face staring back at him._

_His gaze rested instead on his left arm.  The familiar Dark Mark still marred the pale skin of his inner forearm.  Now, just above the mark, almost in the crook of his elbow, was a new scar.  It was instantly recognizable to him, after days of staring at the dragon charm, but the shape was blurred enough as to be hopefully indistinguishable to anyone else.  He had been gripping the necklace in his hand, the charm trailing down his arm, when a searing pain burnt into his flesh.  Snape had inspected it afterwards, when they had fled Grimmauld Place.  He just shook his head and muttered, "foolish, reckless Potter," under his breath.  Then he said, "keep it covered as much as possible," and walked away._

_Of course, hiding this new scar meant hiding the Dark Mark, and he couldn't do that in the presence of the Dark Lord.  Not if he wanted to prove his feigned loyalty._

_"Look at me," a voice hissed from in front of him, and Harry fought not to shudder._  I will not show fear.  I will not show him ANYTHING. _The thought was not Harry's own, but it reverberated through his head anyway, and he wanted to cheer at the sentiment.  His eyes were unwillingly raised to meet the red, calculating glare of Voldemort.  Harry knew that his face was a serene mask of servitude, and his mind was clear and impenetrable.  "Very good," Voldemort said.  "Continue to prove yourself to me, and you shall come to no further harm.  You may, as Severus so readily promises, become quite useful."_

_He tried, Merlin did he try, but he just couldn't keep the image from flashing through his mind.  A young blond boy, pinned to the floor.  An older man, ripping at his robes, yanking off his clothes, exposing his lower body, pounding into him from behind._

_It became obvious that his mental defences had failed when Voldemort's smile became truly sinister.  "We will see.  I'm hoping you will have other, more profitable uses this time around."_

Harry gasped and jerked his hand from his chest, pulling his shirt down abruptly.  Tears stained his checks as he huffed in deep gulps of air and fought hard not to vomit.  Malfoy!  It was Malfoy's emotions he was feeling, Malfoy's mind that the scar connected to.  Malfoy was back with Voldemort, scared beyond reason but still there, fighting for his family.  Harry had felt the loathing and contempt in Malfoy's mind.  If he couldn't shield that from Voldemort, he would be a dead man.

And what of the last part of the vision?  It was almost certainly a memory of Malfoy's.  Harry had long suspected that Malfoy had been raped by other Death Eaters, but the visual evidence was absolutely shocking and horrifying.  Harry wanted to find Malfoy and wrap him up in his arms.  How could he endure so much abuse, and willingly go back to it?

With the dragon charm gone, the portkey was gone too, making the chance that Harry would see Malfoy again in the near future almost nothing.  Harry stroked the scar through his shirt, focusing on his concern for Malfoy.  For Draco.  Because after occupying the boy's thoughts, it was hard to keep thinking of him as Malfoy all the time.  He let the uncertainty and tenderness of his feelings for Draco flow through him, hoping against rather poor odds that this connection ran two ways, and Malfoy would be able to feel Harry's emotions.

Feeling rather sillly, Harry stood up, and made his way to where his best friends would surely be waiting for him.  As he walked, he felt his scar throb slightly, and the faintest feeling of gratitude and endearment washed over Harry.

He could breath easy for now.  Draco was alive, and Harry had a way to communicate with him.  However fragile and weak it may be, it was still something, and even that small, thread-like link gave Harry hope.

* * *

The next time Harry saw Draco, it was at Malfoy Manor, many months later.

That's not to say that Harry didn't think about the other boy quite a bit.  It was nice, almost cozy, having a physical bond with someone.  He was getting to know Malfoy even better, because now he had insight into his thoughts and feelings.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses, though.  Sometimes being so closely connected to Draco made Harry's heart ache.  Draco spent much of his time in a state of fear - for himself, for his family and close friends.  His feelings had started to seep though the bond, even when Harry wasn't touching his scar.  Now Harry was prone to sudden flashes of anxiety, panic, terror, and sometimes, hatred and loathing.  Malfoy rarely had any positive emotions spontaneously.  Even when he was with his beloved mother, or his best friends, he still projected a worried uneasiness.  If Harry had to classify it, he'd say Draco was practicing Moody's 'constant vigilance' teachings.

When Harry touched his bond mark, Malfoy's feelings rushed over his body ten-fold.  Harry did his best to bolster the other boy's spirits.  He sent thoughts of concern and encouragement.  He let Draco know the strength he saw in him.  That he believed in him.  That he trusted and missed him.  Draco's returning feelings were always ones of relief and fondness.  And hope.  So much hope. Draco had pinned a lot of his hopes for the future squarely on Harry's shoulders.  The thought of failure, of losing to Voldemort, had always scared Harry, but now the stakes were even higher.  Letting Voldemort win meant leaving Draco to a fate worse than death, and Harry would not, could not, let that happen.

One of the worst days had come right at the beginning of Harry's time on the run.  He, Hermione and Ron were still a solid trio, with no hard feelings marring the friendship.  They had just escaped two Death Eaters at the shabby cafe on Tottenham Court Road.  Harry's forehead scar burned, and a fiery intense fury flashed violently through his body.  Voldemort was livid, and he was itching to take it out on someone.

The pain and tension in his head grew, until he fell to the ground, possessed by an all-consuming anger that was not his own.  The blonde Death Eater from the cafe was screaming in pain while twisting in tortured agony on the floor.  Voldemort was angry, yes, but he was also exhilarated.  He liked giving commands to the other person in the room; the slight, pale boy with the shaking arm and petrified face.  Voldemort enjoyed seeing the boy suffer, while punishing another simultaneously.

Harry was suddenly overwhelmed by the emotions coming from two separate people.  He could still feel Voldemort's anger and excitement, but it was being overshadowed by a huge push of utter terror, with an underlying tone of desperation and self-contempt.  Harry could read Draco like a well-thumbed favourite book.  Draco was fulfilling Voldemort's orders under extreme duress, and he was beating himself up for it.  Under it all, Harry could detect the sliver of satisfaction Draco let himself feel at the fact that Harry had escaped.

Harry came back to himself with a huge gulp of cold air, the uncomfortable pressure of a large rock digging into his back, and Draco's pointy, pallidly distressed face etched firmly into his mind.  At least he had stumbled outside of the tent, and hadn't subjected Ron and Hermione to his disturbing display.  He knew how upset Hermione would be if she learned that two people now had access to Harry's mind.

That was the first night Harry had fallen asleep with his hand on his chest, cupped over the dragon scar.  Now, he couldn't sleep at all without opening the link between himself and Draco.  

After so many months spent decoding Malfoy's convoluted emotions, Harry felt their bond had progressed even further.  He was sure he could read Malfoy's thoughts sometimes.  Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.  Somewhere along the way, Draco Malfoy had become Harry's...best friend? trusted confidant? kindred spirit?  The horcruxes and the inevitable tension that resulted from cohabiting with two other people, with little space and next to nothing to eat, caused a larger and larger rift to grow between Harry and his friends.  Ron and Hermione seemed to be slipping away, and Harry clung more and more desperately to his connection with Draco in response.

He knew it pissed Hermione off, how little he was contributing.  He was pissed at himself as well.  More effort would be needed to conquer Voldemort.  But when Harry lay in his cot at night, touching his scar and picking up a whisper of Malfoy's thoughts, all Harry's brave plans went right out the window.

They were just finally making some headway, with the discovery of the Sword of Gryffindor and the destruction of the locket horcrux, when Harry made the possibly fatal mistake of uttering Voldemort's name, and subsequently getting caught by the snatchers.  

Harry's stomach roiled when Greyback mentioned Malfoy Manor.  Voldemort was using Draco's home as his base of operations?  He hoped that Draco was somewhat safe at Hogwarts right now.

A coil of despair wound around Harry's heart.  He just wanted to give up.  He wanted it to be over.  The whole thing; the war, the fighting for his life, the hiding out, it all felt pointless, especially in the face of being presented to Voldemort, practically on a silver platter.  It was all his fault, being caught by the snatchers.  One more failure in the fuck show that had become Harry's life.

It seemed like Harry just couldn't catch a break.  Draco was home, visiting the Manor for Easter holidays.  The shock and concern that rolled off of Draco's body when he entered the drawing room was almost a tangible force.  Harry avoided eye contact at all costs, scared that he would give away the true nature of their relationship. Everyone here, even Ron and Hermione, expected them to still be enemies.  

Harry's misery weighed heavily on his heart.  He slumped down on himself, wretchedness seeping from his every pore.

 _You stupid fucking git!_ A voice screamed in his head.  Draco.   _Don't you dare give up now._ Harry kept his eyes downcast.  He let out a shudder as Lucius Malfoy walked forward, excitement plain on his face, and tilted Harry's face up by pushing a polished finger under his chin.  Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him, but still refused to meet his gaze.   _For fuck's_ _sake_ _, Harry.  You've been is worse situations.  Are you a Gryffindor or not?  Pull yourself together and FIGHT!_

"Well, Draco?  Is this Harry Potter?"

"I can't be sure," Draco voiced in answer to Lucius's persistent questioning.

"Look at his forehead, Draco.  There is something there."  Lucius turned and glared at his son in an exasperated manner.  "Come closer, take a good look."

Twin heads of pale blond hair scrutinized Harry.  They were so alike, father and son, yet their expressions were so different. Harry could read the reluctance and objection in Draco's face.

"I don't know," Draco replied woodenly, and stepped over to his mother, turning his back on Harry.

"What about the girl?  Surely this is Potter's Mudblood little friend?"  Bellatrix and Lucius eyed Draco with eager anticipation.  "Look, her picture is in the Prophet."

Draco's gaze flitted over Hermione in a perfunctory way, before locking on Harry for a brief moment.  "I...maybe," he stuttered, and turned his back on them once more.

"And the boy, the red head.  Look at him properly, Draco!  Isn't that Arthur Weasley's son?  Potter’s blood-traitor friend?"

Now that Harry had found the courage to look at Draco, he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the other boy.  He noticed a tiny flinch and a stiffening of posture at the mention of the Weasley name.  Molly had been like a second mother to Draco for weeks.

"It could be," Draco muttered, without even glancing in Ron's direction.

Bellatrix screeched in frustration.  "Your son is acting particularly useless, Lucius.  One would almost think he was a Potter fan."

Lucius stammered his way through a half-hearted explanation.  "You can't really blame him, Bellatrix.  It's not like he is friends with Potter and his little gang.  How would he know what the Mudblood and the blood-traitor look like?"

Bellatrix smiled cruelly.  "It will be up to the Dark Lord to decide if darling Draco has tried his best.  I will, however, give him my personal opinion that my nephew seemed deliberately unhelpful."  

Then Bellatrix noticed the Sword of Gryffindor amoung the snatcher's pilferings, and all hell broke loose. Before Harry had time to think, he found himself and Ron locked up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor.  Ron was screaming for Hermione, quite out of his head with panic.  Even from upstairs, they could hear Bellatrix erratically hounding Hermione, and their friend's anguished replies.  She wouldn't last long with someone as deranged as Bellatrix Lestrange torturing her.

Harry's lightening bolt scar was aching.  The dragon scar on his chest was burning.  It was almost too much, the assault of two minds on his own.  He wondered if he had really heard Draco's thoughts earlier, or if his mind just provided him with what he wanted to hear.

He slipped his hand under his ripped t-shirt, and cupped the scar which would link him to Draco.

_Pacing, pacing, back and forth in front of an unlit fireplace.  Think Draco, THINK. You've got to help him get out of here.  Help them, I suppose.  Before the Dark Lord gets here.  Once he does, Bellatrix will inform him of my reluctance, and I will most likely be severely punished, and no use to anyone._

_Come on, I'm a Slytherin.  I'm smart and cunning.  What can I do to save Harry, while still keeping my family safe?_

Harry dropped his hand from the scar into his lap.  This couldn't be it.  This couldn't be the way it all ended.  Draco was right, he had to fight.

The scar on his forehead throbbed in pain.  It felt like his head was ripping open.  White spots danced in front of his eyes, his vision tunnelled, and everything faded to black.

* * *

The events of Malfoy Manor seemed like a distant memory.  Or a bad movie, like the ones he watched late at night on the Dursley's telly, after the rest of the family had gone to bed.  Not like something that had happened to him, mere hours ago.

From the safety and comfort of Shell Cottage, Harry tried to piece it all together.  What weighed most heavily on him was the rising death toll - two more dead, because of him.  Wormtail.  And Dobby.  A lump grew in Harry's throat.  Dobby, who had been unfailingly loyal to Harry.  Who would have been terrified of returning to Malfoy Manor, where he had been browbeaten and treated like filth, but did so anyway.  For Harry.

They had rescued Hermione.  They had escaped before Voldemort arrived.

But they had left Draco behind, at the mercy of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

Draco stood out firmly in Harry's mind, the only memory that was crisp and clear.  The chandelier had smashed to the ground, creating the perfect diversion.  Draco's face had been cut; Harry's stomach swooped at the rivelets of blood winding down the pale white skin.  Harry had run for Draco, unsure what his plan was.   _No, you idiot!  Don't give us away!_

Damn it, he had forgot.  They were on separate sides of this damn war, and it needed to stay that way, at least for now.  Harry leaped at Draco, and grabbed the wands gripped tightly in the boy's hand.  He jerked lightly.  Realization crept quickly over Draco's face, before being replaced by a blank mask.  The tension of Draco's grip relaxed just as Harrry pulled on them again, yanking the wands easily out of Draco's grasp.

A giddy feeling of hope surged from the dragon scar, flooding over Harry.   _GO!_ Draco screamed in Harry's head.   _Hurry Harry!  Go!_

Looking around, Harry had realized there was a whole other battle going on.  He had been trapped in his own mind, utilizing his link with Draco, trying to block Voldemort out as his lightening bolt scar burned, and had missed most of the exchange between Dobby and the Black sisters. _For the love of Merlin, Harry, go!_

Bellatrix's knife had come spinning towards him.  As he turned to disapparate, he caught one final glimpse of Draco.  He stood huddled next to his mother, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders.  The cuts on his face from the chandelier crystal were still seeping.  It looked like he was crying tears of blood.

* * *

Returning to Hogwarts had always been inevitable.  It was the place where both Harry and Tom Riddle felt most at home.

Harry and Tom, the orphan boys.  Left to fend for themselves from infancy.  Unloved and unwanted.  At Hogwarts, they had found their niche.  Made friends, learned magic, carved out a somewhat happy life for themselves.

Harry thought back to the day, so many months ago, when he sat in Dumbledore's office and insisted he was NOTHING like Draco sodding Malfoy.  And from the outside, they really couldn't be more different.  Draco had grown up rich and spoiled, immersed in the wizarding world with every advantage possible.  He knew about proper robes, and wands, and quiddich.  He had parents; actually, he had a large extended family, and plenty of friends.  He also had an ego the size of a Hungarian Horntail and a perchant for parroting his parent's distorted world views.  For someone of such high intelligence, Draco didn't think for himself an awful lot.

No, on parchment, Harry and Draco were very different boys.  But look at Harry and Tom.  Such similar life circumstances.  So much in common.

Harry dismissed that idea immediately.  He had finally figured out what Dumbledore had been trying to say that day.  Circumstances didn't matter. How you were raised didn't matter.  It all came down to your choices, and what was in your heart.

Harry was pretty sure Tom Riddle's heart was a blackened, cancerous tumour.  There was no love there, not for his "friends", or his loyal Death Eater followers.

But Harry's heart was filled with love, despite his poor start in life and his abysmal family.  He chose to be happy, by making his own friends, and finding a new family.  They were the most important people in the world to Harry.

So while Harry felt pity for Tom, he didn't feel any sense of understanding.

Who he did understand was Draco Malfoy.  Harry understood the need to protect your loved ones.  To make stupid decisions and foolish promises in an effort to keep your family safe.  Harry might hate Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, but they were Draco's parents.  Draco loved them. He would do everything he could to protect them.  It was something Harry admired and respected.

And yet...at the Manor.  Draco hadn't identified Harry.  There must have been a huge fallout, when Harry and his friends escaped.  Draco's family would have taken the brunt of the blame.  Did this mean...?  Had Harry become someone so close to Draco's heart that he would risk his parent's safety?

No, that couldn't be right.

Malfoy wanted Voldemort defeated.  Harry was the best chance they had to achieve that goal.  That was all.  Malfoy needed Harry alive, to defeat Voldemort.

It was insinuated, by a fair number of people, that Harry wasn't very perceptive.  A powerful wizard, yes.  Observant and astute?  Not so much.  Even when obvious clues were right in front of him, Harry sometimes let his emotions lead him astray.  He hoped for the conclusion that would cause the least amount of damage, hurt the fewest number of people.  It was an admirable trait.  Just think, it had gained him a large number of points in the second task of the Triwizard Tournamnet, even though he had failed rather miserably!

Unfortunately, Harry was often left second-guessing himself, and the intentions of his friends.  To be fair, Harry had been burned in the past.  Ron had turned his back on Harry more than once.  Dumbledore had held him at arm's length.  At some point or another, most of the students and half the staff at Hogwarts had hated Harry, and taken great pleasure in making it very well known.  It was little wonder that Harry questioned Draco's sentiments.  The Slytherin had made 'Potter Stinks' badges, for Merlin's sake!  It wasn't so hard for Harry to gloss over the strong bond they shared.

Although, speaking of the bond, it had been rather silent lately.  No, not silent.  More...muted.  Harry hadn't thought about it much, to be honest.  He just hadn't had the time, what with becoming a Godfather, breaking into a Gringott's high security vault, liberating a dragon, and starting a war at Hogwarts.  Things had been rather busy.

Harry didn't know what he wanted.  He would like to see Draco again, to know that he was ok after what happened at the Manor.  But for that to happen, Draco would have to be still in the castle, putting him in danger from Voldemort once again.  So Harry also wished that Draco was far away, somewhere safe.  Even if this was the end, and Harry was not around to see the other boy again.  Maybe it was better this way. 

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened in the Room of Forgotten Things.  Malfoy was there!  He had stayed behind, putting his life in jeopardy, and for what?  Crabbe and Goyle had some fanatic story about catching Potter and claiming glory, and Draco nodded along.  But at the same time, he kept screaming "stop" and "don't kill him.  Do not KILL him!"  But the other two boys, especially Crabbe, were beyond listening to Draco Malfoy.  Crabbe had murder in his heart, and the promise of prestige and honour clouding his mind. 

He was also reckless, and not very intelligent. The uncontrollable fire curse Crabbe cast roared through the room, consuming everything in its path.  Harry knew they were in serious trouble when even Hermoine, brilliant and practical Hermoine, chose running over spell work.

Harry lost track of Draco, who had been dragging a stunned Goyle along with him, slowing his retreat down considerably.  Crabbe, the coward, had ran past them all, abandoning his friends to die in the fiery inferno he had created.

After turning another corner, the trio stopped dead, blocked in on a dead end.  The fire bore down on them, monstrous tongues of heat licking closer and closer to where they stood.   But Harry would not give up.  He would keep fighting until the very end.  By some extreme stroke of luck, he spied two very old, heavy broomsticks leaning on the shelf.  He threw one at Ron, and launched himself in the air, searching for a sign of Draco or the other Slytherin boys.

Where the bond had been dormant, it now flared with blazing panic and blinding terror.  Harry swooped over the room, as the fire reached for his feet.  Ron was screaming to get out, and Harry wanted to, but there!  Over there!  A small, choked scream!

Harry pivoted in mid air, a move he had never pulled off so fluidly on the quiddich pitch before.  And yes, there!  On top of a leaning pile of broken desks was Draco, clutching onto his unconscious friend, doing his best to drag him to safety.

Harry tried, he tried his very best, but he couldn't seem to pull Draco and Goyle onto the broom, and they were going to die, they were all going to die in this room, in this heat, eaten alive by fire monsters.  But no, there was Ron, threatening to kill Harry, but hauling Goyle into his broom.  And thank Godric and Salazar and all the founders for the heavy sturdiness of those brooms.  Malfoy had jumped on behind Harry, crushing himself to Harry's back.  Draco's face was buried deep in Harry's neck when he yelled, "get to the door!"

The door, yes.  Get to the door, get out of the room, get away from the burning monsters trying to choke them.  But wait.  From the corner of his eye, he spotted a worn, shabby tiara.  Making another impossible turn, Harry hurdled straight for it.  He could do this, he could get the diadem and get out alive.

Draco's grip around his waist was so tight.  His groin and legs crushed into Harry, and if the circumstances had been just a little different, Harry would have spun around and returned that hug.  But this was not the time, and besides, Harry and Draco didn't have much of a physical relationship.  They hadn't been touchy-feely while languishing in Grimmauld Place.  Now Ron, he was very hands-on.  Always punching Harry on the shoulder, or musing up his ridiculous mop of hair.  That was just Ron's way.  Draco, however, had always seemed more standoffish and self contained, even when he followed Harry around the house.

But there was that one time, that one night, where everything had changed.  And now Draco's breath was coming in hot pants on Harry's neck, just like that night.  It wasn't fair, that this would be their reunion.  That things would be left unsaid yet again.  

Harry pelted towards the sliver of light he could discern though the choking smoke, hoping he was heading for the door.  Draco renewed his grip, and if it was possible, became even more closely moulded to Harry's back.  Harry still had one hand free of his broom, swinging the diadem from his wrist.  In a fit of total madness, he gripped tighter to the broom with his other hand and thighs, and pushed the hand holding the diadem up to where Malfoy clung to him for dear life.  In the split second it took to barrel through the door, and crash spectacularly into the wall across the hallway, Harry had felt Draco squeeze his hand back.

On his hands and knees, Harry coughed so hard he thought he would expel his lungs from his body.  He did a quick tally - there were Ron and Hermoine, sitting wrapped up together and slightly apart from a still unconscious Goyle.  Malfoy was slumped against the wall, coughs wracking his thin body.

Grief and despair ripped through Harry.  For a moment he was utterly confused, until Draco managed to choke out, "Cra...Crabbe," is a voice of total dejection.

"He's dead," Ron spit at Draco, and Harry thought his heart would break for the blond boy who had just lost one of his best friends.  But there was no time to dwell on it, or to offer comfort, not when Voldemort was out there and they still had horcruxes to destroy.

Harry left Malfoy, crying in the hallway for his dead friend, with only an unconscious boy for company.   He had to push past the agony that was seeping steadily through the bond.

It was Hermoine that noticed that the diadem was ruined, and figured out what it meant.  Fiendfyre, she had said.  All that meant to Harry was they were one more horcrux down.

Things were looking up, finally, for Harry and his friends.  Only the snake was left to kill, all the other horcruxes had been destroyed.  Percy Weasley had just run by, throwing curses like a mad man.  He was back, and most firmly on their side once again.

Yes, for a few minutes, things looked promising.  But Harry had always had the worst of luck.  And in an instant, his whole world was shattered.

As Fred fell, with a smile still on his lips, Harry let out an agonized howl.  It was inhuman, almost feral, and wretched in its heartbreak.

Harry learned exactly what Draco had felt, watching his friend die and unable to save him.

Just one more way in which these dissimilar boys had demonstrated how alike in thought and deed they really were. Wouldn't Dumbledore be proud, to see himself proven right?

* * *

All around Harry, life continued.  Not as normal.  No, a war in the middle of Hogwarts could never be considered normal.  But still, life went on, even though the world seemed to have come to an end.

For himself, and for Ron, how could they continue?  What was left, after this horrible loss?

Hermoine, that clever witch.  She was able to bring Harry and Ron back from the brink of despair.  Even with tears streaming down her face, Hermoine was able to focus in on what really mattered.  Voldemort.

For the first time in history, Hermoine suggested that Harry use his link to Voldemort.  They needed to get to the snake, and they knew she would be heavily guarded by her master.

Voldemort, the rotten coward, was hiding out in the Shrieking Shack, abusing Lucius Malfoy.  Not even fighting!  No, instead he was spreading his vile brand of control, taunting Lucius with the likelihood of Draco's death, hinting at the possible friendship between Harry and Draco.

Not that Harry gave two figs about Lucius Malfoy.  But the threat against Draco had been very clear.

Harry was able to save Draco, one last time, before he left the school.  Of course, Ron had then punched him in the face, but that was besides the point.  He was alive, for now, and that was all that Harry could do.

 _Get to the shack.  Kill the snake. Get to the shack. Kill the snake._ It sounded easy enough.  

Of course, it wasn't.  Instead, Harry had to see Voldemort betray Snape.  He had to see Snape die, in the most horrific, appalling way.  He had to listen to Voldemort threaten his friends, his school, in an effort to get to Harry.  He had to witness the mourning families in the Great Hall.  He had to suffer his own losses; Tonks, and Remus, and Fred all over again, all because Harry was unable to give himself up.  He had to relive Snape's memories, and have his dad's comforting presence ripped away. He had to learn of Dumbledore's manipulations and betrayal.

And in the end, Harry had to go into the Forbidden Forest alone, to die.

* * *

Dumbledore was right, again.  It really was extremely vexing that the man who had groomed Harry for death, had left him at the mercy of the Dursleys, was so very brilliant and omniscient.

Many months ago in Grimmauld Place, Draco had painstakingly taught Harry how to play chess properly.  Harry had a tendency to make bold moves and take big risks.  Draco sat back and played a much more cunning game.  The trick, he said, was to anticipate your opponent's move.  And not just the next move, but all upcoming moves, and all the variations and probable outcomes. It was a constant mental catalogue of what ifs, spinning out like a spider web.  It made Harry's head hurt, but with practice, he got much better.  He even beat Draco, once or twice.

Harry thought that Dumbledore's plans and guesses and ideas must be a lot like plotting a chess strategy.  The Headmaster's brain was so overrun, he had to siphon memories off, for Merlin's sake!  So it was no surprise to Harry that Dumbledore had been correct about the most important thing in life.  It was a reoccurring theme that kept cropping up, or maybe Harry was just dwelling on it more and more lately.  Love.

With Love, Harry found he could do anything.  Marching off to your own death is not easy, please don't get that idea.  Harry was scared witless.  But he was surrounded by those he Loved, his mother and father, Sirius and Lupin.  His sacrifice would help ensure the survival of Loved ones still alive.  If he could help secure a happy future for his friends and family, it would all be worthwhile.  Ron and Hermoine.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  George and Percy and Bill and Charlie.  And Ginny.  Beautiful, vibrant Ginny.  Neville and Luna.  Teddy.  And Draco.

Harry was about to die, it was time to be honest with himself.  Somewhere along the way, Harry had developed deep feelings for Draco Malfoy.  It might have been a result of the bond, or the enforced communal living conditions, but Harry didn't think so.  There was something deeper there, with Draco.

It was one of his only regrets, really.  There was just so much left unsaid between himself and Draco.  He wished he could communicate how much the other boy meant to him.

Harry mentally slapped himself across the head.   _Dummy,_ he thought.  If he wanted to let Draco know his feelings, he just had to use their bond. 

He paused under the invisibility cloak, and his family paused with him.  Their smiles were warm and encouraging.  In their Loving presence, Harry found it quite easy to concentrate on his bond with Draco, and PUSH hard towards the other boy.  All the things that were too hard to say, or too embarrassing, or too new, Harry let it all flow through the bond.  The initial exasperation, the grudging respect, the growing affection.  The possible Love.  It was now or never, and Harry didn’t back down or try to hide from his feelings.

He didn’t know if Draco could read his thoughts, but the last thing that ran through his mind, before he continued on his path to Voldemort, was _I’m glad I had the chance to Love you._

Harry took about five steps before his head exploded with a loud _NOOOOOO!!!_  and overwhelming regret and heartbreak forced him to his knees.  Lily looked down on her son with a sad smile, and gently helped him to his feet.  Sirius reached out and gripped one of Harry’s hands, while Remus and James slung a comforting arm over each shoulder.  After that, all he could feel was the peace you get from the knowledge of being beloved.

* * *

Harry did die, that day.  It was an odd sort of death, what with the strange baby-like creature and Albus Dumbledore showing up in King’s Cross station.

He could choose to stay, if he wanted.  He could have the life he always dreamed of, with his mom and dad, his godfather and Lupin.

But as much as he loved them, yearned for them in fact, he couldn’t just throw the life he had away.  Harry’s whole existence up until that point had been mediocre at best, and downright abysmal at worst. He had carved a small slice of happiness out, with his friends and the Weasleys.  But Harry found that it wasn’t enough.  He wanted to experience all the world had to offer, once he was free of his abusive relatives and the constant threat of Voldemort.  In fact, Harry deserved it. He deserved happiness.

He had to kill Voldemort first.  Draco’s mother helped, in her own self-serving way.  She kept Harry alive long enough for the final show-down, at any rate.  How many times would he rely on a mother’s love to keep him alive?

How many times would he use Expelliarmus against Voldemort?  At least one more time, apparently. Harry could almost hear the groans from his friends when he used the disarming spell yet again against the most evil wizard ever known.

For the record, let it stand that right until the very end, Harry Potter showed Voldemort mercy.  After all the twisted, evil things Voldemort had done, Harry still offered him a chance at redemption.

That was one thing Harry had learned.  Not everyone is as evil (or as good) as they seem.  And there is always the hope of making a better choice.

Voldemort didn’t make that choice.  He couldn’t. It wasn’t in him to have self-doubt, or admit defeat.  It wasn’t in him to trust the word of others.  What was in Voldemort was pure hate, vile rage, and a fondness for hurting the weak.

And so he died.  And while some mourned his passing, the number was smaller than you might imagine.  Many supporters were Impervioused, or coerced, or just plain old scared to flee, lest their entire family be hunted and killed.  Draco Malfoy was not the only person branded with the Dark Mark who breathed a sigh of relief over Voldemort’s body.

Of course, Harry was the hero once again.  Everyone wanted a piece of The Boy Who Lived. All Harry wanted to do was find a quiet spot away from the crowds.  Instead, he shook hands, and gave support, and offered condolences.  And he promised himself that soon, SOON, he would start living his own life.

* * *

The time directly after what they were now calling the Battle of Hogwarts was up there with the worst days of Harry’s life.  There were just so many families left broken and shattered.  So many good people lost.

Harry’s closest friends had suffered huge, devastating blows.  The loss of Fred left the entire Weasley family floundering.  The twins had always been the ones to lighten the mood.  Now George sat still and silent, alone and untouched in his crushing grief.

Hermione’s parents didn’t even recognize their daughter.  So good was her magic, Mr and Mrs Granger were still totally convinced they were a childless couple, making a life for themselves in Australia.  They had no recollection of the wizarding world at all.  Hermione had kept them safe, it was true, but at what cost?  She had still lost them, all the same.

From Draco, all Harry felt was constant misery.

After much prying and pleading and tormenting of new Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry learned that Draco had been arrested for war crimes, and was being held prisoner until his trial.  Like all those who bore the Dark Mark, he was in solitary confinement, with no visitors allowed.  No amount of cajoling, from either Harry or Mr. Weasley, was able to shift Shacklebolt’s mind on that.

And so Harry waited, and fretted, worrying over his scar and pushing feelings of hope and determination through the bond.  There was never any response from Draco; just the steady thrum of oppressive despair.  

Harry didn’t even know where the prisoners were being kept.  Azkaban, the Ministry, some other unknown location?  Were the Dementors still involved in prisoner supervision?  Harry couldn’t imagine the Ministry allowing that, after the Dementors had sided so publicly with Voldemort, but it would certainly explain Draco’s current metal state.

The funny thing was, Harry Potter was sought out as the star witness for many Death Eater trials.  If he could provide even he slightest confirmation that yes, that Death Eater was at Hogwarts, and yes, I did see her/him use some type of Dark Magic, both the Ministry and the Wizengamot were seriously pleased with him.  Yet, when he inquired politely about the date of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy’s trials, he was met with vague answers and eyes that slid away from his.

Thankfully, Molly had Mr. Weasley on the case, and when Narcissa Malfoy was tried in front of the Wizengamot at midnight on a stormy night in June, Harry was there.  He didn’t claim that she was a good person, or secretly a spy against Voldemort.  He spoke the simple truth; she lied to her Dark Lord to preserve Harry’s life, allowing him to go on to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

Harry wasn’t present for the sentencing.  He was relegated to the hallway, were he had fallen asleep on one of the hard stone benches.  This proved a very good thing, as Mr. Weasley shook Harry awake in the early hours of dawn the next morning.  Draco’s trial was to take place immediately.  Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be witnesses for Draco, along with Harry.

Again, Harry wasn’t permitted into the room for the bulk of the trial.  He was called only when his testimony was needed.  His eyes swung madly around the court, seeking Draco.  He finally found him seated on an uncomfortable looking chair, his hands and feet both manacled.  Draco’s head was bowed at the neck.  The faint rise of his chest was the only movement he made; otherwise he was as still as a statue.  Harry almost cried out in anguish at Draco’s physical state.  His pale skin was marred in bruises once again.  There was a disturbing ring of purple-yellow marks circling his neck, that Harry was sure were from fingers pressed too firmly into skin.  Draco’s lips were cracked and peeling, and his eyes and cheeks were hollow and sunken.  The resemblance to Sirius Black’s old ‘Wanted Posters’ was astounding.  

Harry fought hard to control his temper.  Shouting at Ministry officials wouldn’t help free Draco.  And Harry would accept nothing less.  There was no way he was leaving Draco in the hands of these monsters any longer.

Harry spoke in a calm, clear voice about Dumbledore’s plan to protect Draco and his family. He told of Draco’s reluctance to turn him and his friends over to Voldemort at the Manor.  He recalled the Fiendfyre, and Draco’s pleas to his friends not to kill Harry.

All stacked up, it didn’t sound like much.  But Harry didn’t want to reveal the bond that he and Draco shared.  Speaking of the connection between them might bring up questions of mind control and other ludicrous ideas into play, and Harry would not stand for that.

Relegated back to the stone bench in the hallway, Harry waited for what seemed like hours for the trial to end.  Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had come and gone, giving Harry a comforting hug on the way out.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, the Wizengamot courtroom cleared.  Harry waited one, two, three minutes.  No Draco.  Finally, about five minutes after everyone else had cleared the hallway, Draco emerged, practically sprinting past Harry.  After a slight perplexed pause, Harry gave chase.  He caught up with Draco enough to see a blond head of hair barrel into the men’s loo.

Flashbacks of sixth year and their horrible bathroom confrontation plagued Harry.  He felt naseous, and he couldn’t tell if it was really him, or coming from the bond.  Gathering his courage, he pushed the door open.

Draco had just pulled off his robes, and was sticking his head directly under a facet of cold running water.  He pulled back, gasping, his long hair clinging to the sides of his face.  He dropped his hands to his knees and sucked in air in huge, gasping pants.  He looked...well, he looked a mess, quite honestly. Dishevelled and haggard in a way that directly opposed all Harry’s memories of the cultured, dignified boy.

The emotions rolling through the bond were too complex and fleeting for Harry to fully grasp, but he could feel Draco’s vulnerability, mixed with elation, dejection, worry, and tinged with a slice of hysteria.

Harry was terrified. He’d never been good with words, and had proven to be utter shite at providing comfort.  But if he didn’t intervene soon, Draco might hyperventilate.

”Draco,” Harry said softly.  The boy in front of him instantly stiffened.  He drew his hands off of his knees, and stood up straight, his eyes performing a scrambling search.  “Draco...hi.  It’s good to see you.”

Something in blond’s rigid demeanour broke.  The overwhelming swirl of scattered emotions from the bond became shaded with fondness and exasperation.  “Merlin, Potter, after everything we’ve been through, you couldn’t come up with anything better than ‘hi, it’s good to see you?’”

Harry just shrugged.  Actions always did speak louder than words for him.  He strode across the bathroom, stopping directly in front of Draco and wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist, bringing their chests flush together.  He rested his forehead in the crook of Draco’s neck.  Dampness penetrated his tshirt immediately, and he pulled back, smiling ruefully at Draco.  “You are soaked.”

”Yeah.  Just trying to cool off, sorry.”  Draco made a move to pull his jumper over his head.  It was then that Harry noticed what Draco was wearing.  The pale blue jumper hung off his skeletal body, but it was still plain to see how well the colour would have looked with Draco’s stormy eyes and pale skin.  Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist as it grasped the hem.  The jumper’s front was adorned with a sleeping dragon, whose tail wound up to form a perfect D on Draco’s chest.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat.  “Is that...are you wearing...did Mrs Weasley make that for you?”  It crossed Harry’s mind that this was a totally ridiculous topic of conversation to be pursuing in the men’s loo after Draco’s trial for war crimes.  But he had to know.  Because that really said something, didn’t it?  That of all the tailored clothes and imported items at Draco’s disposal, he had chosen to wear a Weasley jumper to his trial.

Draco fiddled the hem between two dexterous fingers, and replied, “I, uh...yeah.  It is.”  The two boys stared at each other for a moment, before Draco continued, his words coming out in a rush.  “Last year, at Hogwarts, it was...well, it was a bloody fucking nightmare.  But as bad as it was, home was worse.  I talked my parents into letting me stay, over the Christmas holidays.  Christmas morning, along with the usual trappings from my family, there was a hand-wrapped present, with a tag that read, ‘ _To Draco, with love from MAW’._ I can only assume it got through because the Carrows can’t spell, and thought it was meant to say Mum.  Regardless, I opened it, and figured out right away that MAW meant Molly and Arthur Weasley.  I’d seen enough horrid jumpers on your spindly chest through the years to be certain.”  Draco smiled, easing the sting of his words.  “Against my better judgement, it quickly became my favourite item of clothing.  It was like...almost like a motherly hug, you know?”

Harry did know.  He had experienced the exact same feeling, in first year, when he received his very own Weasley jumper for Christmas.  It was knowing that someone had taken the time to make something, specifically for him.  That he was deemed worthy of that use of time.  That someone cared for him enough to plan a project and create a homemade gift, instead of just picking up an item from the store.

Without further thought, Harry spun on the spot, dragging Draco with him by the wrist.  They landed in front of the fireplace of Grimmauld Place.

Now, with Draco standing stock still in his house, Harry had a surge of reconsideration.  What had made him do that?  To assume that Draco would want to be here, with him?  Now that he was finally free, he would surely want to see his family, or friends.

Draco took a step towards Harry, an unsure smile on his face.  He placed a hand softly on Harry’s chest.  “I can feel how uncertain you are.  Let me make it clear to you - there is no place I’d rather be right now.”  With another step forward, Draco had bridged the space between them.  He leaned down slightly, so his forehead rested gently on Harry’s.  “And you?” he asked, in an uncharacteristicly shy voice.

Harry answered by pushing forward, until his lips were covering Draco’s. This time, for this kiss, the stars everyone talked about were there, dancing on Harry’s closed lids.  He pulled back from Draco, panting.  It was almost too much, and all they had done was kiss.  Was this normal?

”Take me to your bedroom, Harry,” Draco murmured raspily.  Harry nodded, quite beyond words at this point.  He locked his lips on Draco’s again and pushed the other boy backwards towards the stairwell.  Somehow, with a little stumbling and a lot of shared kisses, they made it to Harry’s room.

At which point, Harry froze up.  It wasn’t just his lack of experience.  It was also the knowledge of what Draco had been through, what he’d been forced to endure.  Draco ripped Harry’s shirt off roughly, dragging it over his head and dislodging his glasses.  He reached forward, and placed an eloquent hand over the rough scar on Harry’s chest.  The anger, the simmering bitterness in Draco was shocking.  “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Harry Potter.  I won’t stand for your pity.”

Harry nodded again.  He understood.  He too hated the pity he saw in the eyes of his well-meaning friends.  He wouldn’t do that to Draco.

But he also wouldn’t - couldn’t - be the one in control.  He needed it to be Draco making the decisions, and deciding what he could handle.  Harry finally found his voice, and said simply, “ok.  Show me what you want, Draco.”

Triumph and euphoria surged through the bond, where Draco’s hand was still touching Harry’s scar.  Underneath it all was a tiny thread of fear.  Harry concentrated on that, and promised himself that he would do nothing that Draco didn’t explicitly want.  He would not have a hand in causing that fear to grow.

Draco eyed Harry intently, before pushing him backwards onto the bed.  “You,” he replied, as he pulled the jumper off over his head.  He then moved onto working on the fastenings  of his white button-up.  “I want you.”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows and watched in awe as Draco revealed each tantalizing glimpse of pale flesh.  The bruising at his neck.  The hint of a collar bone.  The pinkness of a nipple.  The smooth skin of long-healed curse scars.  The flash of ribs.  The angry grey of the Dark Mark.  And the vividness of the bond scar.

“Aurgh,” Harry moaned unintelligently.  Despite the gauntness, the marks, the scars, the blemishes, the history between them, Draco was perfect.  This moment was perfect, and Harry was completely lost in it.  He reached forward, running a finger from Draco’s wrist and up, over the Dark Mark and up to the bond scar.  He caressed both, tracing their outlines.  “Perfect,” he whispered.

It was Draco’s turn to make an incoherent sound.  He lunged forward, driving Harry’s body back onto the bed.  For the first time, their chests were flush together, skin on skin.  Harry was dizzy with the feeling of it, the heat of their bodies together.  Draco drove forward again, capturing Harry’s lips in a fevered kiss.  Harry opened his mouth willingly, allowing Draco entrance.  He would allow Draco anything, let him do whatever he wanted.  Draco seemed to read Harry’s easy acquiescence.  He plundered Harry’s mouth, exploring every crevice.  He ran his tongue over Harry’s teeth, his lips, his palate, and -Dear Merlin!- his tongue.  Harry hadn't realized that kissing could be like this, that a simple snog could make you feel so alive.  Except, it wasn’t just a simple snog, was it?  It was something more, something altogether more and Harry thought he could go on kissing Draco forever and ever, until the end of time.  Just like last time.  He would never get enough of just kissing Draco Malfoy.

That was when Draco pulled back, balancing himself on Harry’s thighs, and stared down at him, huffing slightly to catch his breath.  Harry mourned the loss of the heat of Draco’s skin, and the intensity of the kiss.  Then Draco reached out, and placed his palm over Harry’s bond scar.  An intensity of a totally different kind ensnared Harry.  The feelings!  The want, the need, the hunger.  The Love. It all flowed back and forth through Harry and Draco, magnified by the bond and their physical connection.

“Want you,” Draco murmured.  He made quick work of divesting himself and Harry of their trousers and pants.  “All of you.  Want to feel you inside me.”

Self-doubt instantly welled up inside Harry, but he was determined that Draco would not feel it.  He grasped Draco’s hand, severing their physical bond connection, and brought it to his lips.  “Whatever you want,” he promised, as he kissed each of Draco’s knuckles.  He was woefully inexperienced, but he knew that Draco need this.  He needed new memories, born of consent and willingness and the real feelings of two people falling in Love.  Harry would do whatever he could to erase Draco’s previous experiences. The rapes, if he was being honest.

Rape.  Draco had been raped.  And suddenly, Harry didn’t know where to put his hands, or how to react to Draco’s touches.  Because what if he inadvertently did something that Draco didn’t like, or Draco pretended to like it, just to make Harry happy?  What if-

“Uuuungh,” Harry groaned.  His thought had been completely cut off by Draco grasping his cock with a warm, wet hand.  The smooth glide of his shaft through Draco’s curled fist was exquisite, and it took everything in his power to not thrust his hips forward, seeking more.  After a few tugs on Harry’s prick, Draco leaned forward and braced himself on Harry’s stomach.  With his lubed hand, he reached around his body and - oh sweet Merlin’s beard - his hand disappeared, and his face went slack, and Harry went wild with lust.  Because Draco’s fingers were...there.  In his own body.  Getting himself ready for Harry.

More than anything, Harry wanted to feel where Draco’s hand met his body, but he held back.  Draco might not welcome such an intimate touch.  After all, he hadn’t asked Harry to perform the...erm...what his hand was presently doing.  Harry also wanted to kiss Draco desperately, but he refrained from this as well.  Truth be told, Harry was somewhat terrified of doing the wrong thing, making the wrong move, and mucking everything up with his amateur enthusiasm or his unwanted advances.  He had decided to let Draco dictate their activities, and resigned himself to follow through with that decision.

It wasn’t like it was a hardship.  Draco was beautiful, posed above Harry.  The pallid skin Harry had noted in the courtroom was now flushed a pretty pink.  The urge to feel his skin beneath Harry’s hand was overwhelming.  Draco must have felt it, through the bond, because he whispered, “touch me, Harry.  Please.  Touch me.”

Harry reached up and grasped both of Draco’s hips, but it wasn’t nearly enough.  He wanted more, craved more.  Draco had finished his preparations.  One hand moved the cover Harry’s on his hip, while the other grasped Harry’s cock at the base.  Silver eyes met and held Harry’s emerald gaze.  Then Draco sank, inch by inch, down on Harry’s straining cock, until the curve of Draco’s bum met Harry’s body.

Harry was wholly unprepared for the heat, and the tight, velvety, incomparable feeling of Draco’s body surrounding his cock.  Nothing in his life up until this point had felt this good.  It was like...it was like the first time Harry had flown on a broomstick.  Total elation, joy, and just a sense of belonging, and utter rightness.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Draco, even for a second.  The other boy’s eyes were closed, and his bottom lip was grasped tightly by his teeth.  He was still as a marble statue, creamy alabaster skin glowing faintly in the moonlight.  “Harry,” Draco groaned, and started to move.  Just tiny rolls of the hips.  It shouldn’t have been so intoxicating, but Harry was enthralled.  The way Draco’s lean muscles rippled, and his silky hair fell into his face and spilled over his shoulders, the expression of contentment and bliss on the angular face; it all added up to utter perfection for Harry.

Draco’s movements became more more desperate and frantic, until he was undulating above Harry.  Needy little whimpers spilled from the blond’s lips, and Harry answered them back with grunts and moans of his own.  Then Draco fell forward, bracing himself on Harry’s chest with his hands, and made direct contact with Harry’s bond scar.  And Harry’s world imploded.

He was hit with a rush of feeling so strong and so vital, it left him gasping for breath.  He understood Draco in that instant.  He knew the other boy, down to his very core.  Better than he knew anyone, including himself.  And he wanted that.  He wanted Draco to have that deep understanding of him.  He reached out, and wrapped his hand firmly around Draco’s arm, where the Dragon marred his skin.

Harry faintly heard Draco let out a long “ooooohhh,” before his mind was totally overrun.  He was bombarded with colours and light and pictures and memories and emotions.  It was too much for one mind to bare!  He tried to grab onto the fragments as they flitted by, to make sense of what was happening.

... _there was Draco, aged about five years old.  He had just got bitten by a pony, and he was trying desperately to hold back tears.  It hurt so much, but his Father had warned him not to tease the horses, and if he found out...oh, Harry could feel the confusion and terror sweeping through the little boy, blacking out the pain.  But then, a beautiful blonde angel dressed in white swooped down and grabbed Draco, and smothered his face in kisses.  And Harry could feel the love and peace of a Mother’s arms, like he never had before..._

_...Lucius looked down at Draco, and he was bigger now.  Older.  More sure of himself.  But still wary of inciting his Father’s anger.  He just wanted to play with some other kids.  Not Goyle or Crabbe, who followed him around everywhere and had no ideas of there own.  Someone fun, like the boy who helped in the gardens.  Geoffrey.  He had such an imagination!  But he was only a halfblood, and a squib at that, and if Father ever found them talking again..._

_...Draco was flying, high in the air above the Manor.  He was free.  Free to feel, free to think, without being judged.  He was jubilant in the freedom that flying gave him, and it manifested inteslf in Harry’s mind in brilliant sunny yellows and deep royal purples..._

_...and there was Harry, flickering through Draco’s thoughts more often than the Gryffindor would have guessed.  Oh, the mixed bag of emotions that Harry brought up in Draco was astounding!  At first there was casual interest and curiosity.  And then... ohholyfuck ...jealousy and resentment and loathing and exasperation and vindictiveness and embarrassment and regret and anxiety and admiration and fondness and self-doubt and longing and need and..._

It’s too much to take in.  The beauty and complexity of Draco, the essence of his life and soul.  It was too great a gift.  And yet, he’s been granted access to it.  How could he ever do this moment justice?

Meanwhile, as their minds connected, so did their bodies remain joined, in the most private, inimate way possible.  And it was glorious.  Selfishly, Harry wanted more and more and MORE from Draco.  More of his addictive heat and his lush body and his beautiful, scarred soul.  He just WANTS.  Wanted Draco, every bit he has to give, and more.  He wanted to own him, to drown in him.

Draco pounded himself onto Harry now, driving himself down on Harry’s cock.  His lips were moving, but Harry had been deaf to everything but the intense memories and feelings he was experiencing for the last few minutes.  “Oh Harry...fucking Merlin Harry...so perfect...I never knew how...oooohhh yes _righttherefeelssogood..._ so brave, so fierce...so fucking stunning...I love you Harry...I fucking love you, I’ve loved you for so long...fuck Harry, touch me...make me yours...”

”Draaaacoo,” was all Harry could moan in response.  He held tight to Draco’s arm, reluctant in the extreme to lose the priceless connection they shared.  With his other hand, he reached out and stroked Draco’s neglected cock lightly.  

Draco arched his back and moaned wantonly, all while keeping his hand flayed perfectly over Harry’s erratic heart.  “Oh yessss...please, Harry, yes...please...”. Hearing Draco Malfoy - haughty, forbidding, ethereal Draco Malfoy - beg him so shamelessly, pushed Harry right over the edge.  He gripped Draco’s arm hard, the other hand finding purchase as he dug his fingers into the smooth muscle of Draco’s thigh.  His release shot from him with force, unlike any he had experienced before.  Suddenly he understood why sex, with someone that you cared about, was so important.  Why families could be broken, and wars had be waged.  He would have challenged anyone, fought tooth and bloody nail, to keep this feeling of bliss and belonging and esctasy.

Draco’s scorching body drank up every bit of Harry’s release.  He panted above him, covered in dewy sweat and looking quite out of his mind, “Harry...need you...please...”.

Harry pried his fingers from Draco’s thigh, and grasped the blond’s pulsing, leaking shaft in a tight grip.  His whole body was shuddering with need.  “Let go, Draco.  I’ve got you,” Harry whispered, and he pumped Draco’s cock in firm, long strokes.  Draco screamed, a primal, guttural sound, and came hard, coating Harry’s chest and neck with his warm come.  Harry felt marked and owned and so very, very claimed by the beautiful creature straddled above him.

It was perfection.  Harry had no other word to describe it - he didn’t need one.  It didn’t matter that Draco was a boy, or an ex Death Eater, or a childhood enemy.  It didn’t matter that Harry was he Boy Who Lived, and had expectations to live up to.  All that mattered was this moment, and their bond.

Draco slid off of Harry, and cuddled up to Harry’s side, resting his head in the crook of his shoulder.  His forehead felt damp, and Harry reached out and pushed the tousled strands of hair back off Draco’s face.  He was rewarded with the lovely purring sound only Draco could make.  Merlin, Harry had always craved this!  All that affection, love even, just for him.  

He wished he could return it.  He had heard Draco, as they were in the midst of passion, declare his love.  And Harry felt it, he truly did.  He just couldn’t say it.  He was too scared, of what would happen to his heart if he lost it all.  

“That was...wow,” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck sleepily.

”Uh huh,” Harry agreed.  But that wasn’t enough.  He couldn’t tell Draco his true feelings.  He couldn’t share his love quite yet.  But Draco needed to know how precious he was.  “It was the bond,” Harry explained.  The beautiful bond, that let Harry see the workings of Draco’s heart.  That allowed them to share feelings and thoughts, and even memories.  That amplified all their emotions.  That fostered an intimacy greater than either had imagined.

”The bond,” Draco said stonily.  “Is that what you think?  The bond caused this?”

”Yeah,” Harry replied happily.  “The bond.  ‘S wonderful.  So good.  You were so good Draco.”  And Harry promptly drifted off to sleep, not noticing how stiff his lover had grown in the cocoon of his arms.


End file.
